


The Font Of Strength

by AkiRah



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Because the force, Canon Compliant, Dark Side Jaesa, F/M, Fallon Noicrithatch (OC), Fallon is Jaesa's new mom, Fallon is Vette's new mom, Main Storyline, Multi, Quinn-centric, Sith Operas Are A Thing, Slow burn sorta I guess?, choke kink, god I hate writing summaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-14 09:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 55,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11780796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah
Summary: Fallon Noicrothatch is many things: ruthless and beautiful, clever and haughty. But more than anything else she is passionate. And passion, like fire, has a habit of spreading. Quinn knows what will be expected of him, but can not deny that he is starting to burn. And passion is the very font of strength.





	1. Balmorran Beginnings

Lieutenant Quinn cannot remember what he was doing before he saw her. Logically he was berating a Corporal over a failure, but the name and nature of the incident are lost the moment she walks, fully expected, into his office. Quinn has been with the Imperial Military for most of his life, he is familiar with Sith, both the race and the religion.

She is beautiful, but she isn’t different. 

Baras’s new apprentice, tall and strong with skin like a dying sun has eyes that are a brighter gold than the jewelry around them, isn’t _different_. Her black hair is styled out of her face, pinned up and back out of the way, both practical and fashionable. She dresses casually for a sith, though he suspects it's as much on purpose as anything a sith might wear. A black tube top, exposing both the ridges of her sternum and the well-shaped muscles of her midriff, complimented by a long black jacket, her lightsabers visible on the belt beneath. 

She is _beautiful_. It takes nothing to bow his head respectfully. She accepts the gesture with the sliver of a smile and an acknowledging tilt of her chin. 

She is unexpectedly courteous. Quinn has gotten used to being thanked as an afterthought. His contributions _expected_ and only ever commented on when he goes above and beyond. And while he _often_ goes above and beyond, the difference is notable. She gives her name as Fallon, Fallon Noicrothatch, and she thanks him casually as he gives her and Baras some privacy. Quinn doesn’t know what they’re doing, but he knows enough to _suspect_ and enough not to ask more than that. He resumes tracking the Jedi Agent. When he gives Fallon what information he has, he finds himself standing straighter, more eager to please. 

She has crushed odds he calculated as almost impossible, and she did so without disrupting her hair. 

He wants to see more, he needs to see more. 

“You’re saying I _excite_ you, Lieutenant?” Fallon asks, raising her brow at his phrasing. 

“I--well--” Quinn stammers an explanation, trying to cover himself and tune out the twi’lek’s twittering laugh. 

“You’re blushing,” Fallon comments idly. 

“I wasn’t expecting the question, my Lord.” He clears his throat. “If I might continue to brief you on the situation at the arms factory?” 

Her chuckle nearly undoes him. Warm and dark, the way he takes his caff, shaking him awake. “Of course, Lieutenant, but I reserve the right to readdress the issue later.” 

“That--that is your prerogative, my lord.” 

She leaves and he makes sure he’s alone before leaning against the wall as if winded. He closes his eyes, ashamed to be so affected. But there’s an excitement in the flirtation, old pleasures he’d lost interest in twenty years ago. His career has always been foremost in his thoughts and it is never wise to mix business and pleasure. 

But she started it. 

And he’s willing to let his imagination wander so long as it doesn’t get in the way of work. She’ll be gone soon enough.

#

“Quinn,” Lord Noicrothatch’s full lips warm to a smile. “I could kiss you.” 

He can’t help but let those words wash over him, even as he brushes them aside to explain that he was only doing his duty. The Jedi, clutching her stomach where Lord Noicrothatch’s lightsaber had struck deep is holding onto a mask of serenity, her faith crushed beneath his boot. 

Victory, as ever, is sweet.

He leaves the spaceport, heading back to his barracks to contact Lord Baras and convey his-- _their--_ success. His heart feels like he’s beating faster. _I could kiss you_. What would that be _like_? Her full lips crushed against his, the curve of her back beneath his gloves. 

Malavai feels a twinge beneath his uniform slacks. It’s been a long time since he indulged himself, perhaps when she leaves, he’ll take an evening to himself and hire a prostitute. He could risk the Cantina, try and meet someone, but it’s a less sure option and every now and again some officer will find a member of the resistance and get _shot_ instead of laid. He was almost on the receiving end of it once, never again. 

He leaves the duty of updating Baras to Fallon, for the first time risking _irritating_ his liege to do so. But it’s _her_ victory and she should bask in it. When Fallon does, she comments on his usefulness without looking at him, saying it because it’s _true_ , not because she has any interest. 

He sees the first hint of her fury when Lord Baras comments on her _carelessness_ creating a _crisis_ , but Fallon says nothing. She bears the scorn with her head high and her lips tightening. Quinn suspects that she would snarl if she weren’t watching herself. 

He wants to see her break loose. He heard her conversation with Rylen, there had been a fight, but to look at her there was no sign of a struggle. He wonders what it must be like, watching her unleashed upon her enemies. He wants her hair in disarray, her eyes bright, lipstick marred with blood. 

But that’s swept aside as Baras tells him that he’s been put up for Captaincy, and being allowed to _choose_ his next posting. Forgiveness of one debt comes in the form of _accepting_ a second, but Malavai endures it. His debt benefits the Empire, his own freedoms are small price to pay. 

And he has _hungered_ for a promotion the way a starving man learns to ignore his stomach and then gorges when presented with a feast. 

“Congratulations,” Fallon says. “I’ll miss your rugged good looks.” 

He’s certain he’s being teased. He’s in his forties and could never have been described as _rugged_. “Perhaps our paths will cross once more, My Lord,” he gives her a small bow. 

#

The notice comes later: Darth Baras wants Quinn on her ship. Quinn’s not sure if it’s because he noticed the flirting (because he _definitely_ did) and wants to reward him or if it’s because he wants her watched (he _definitely_ does) or if it’s because he thinks Quinn’ll be most useful there (he _definitely_ will be). It might be all three and, moreover, Darth Baras’s motives don’t matter. 

Only his orders do. 

He packs immediately and heads for the hangar to wait. 

She’s speaking with the twi’lek, Vette, as she moves through the hanger, a thin smile on her lips. She graces him with a curious lift of her brow as she and Vette approach and he takes a deep breath, prepared to offer a lie wrapped in truth. Or maybe, right now, it’s truth wrapped in lies. Somedays he can’t really tell the difference. “My lord.” He inclines his head. “I hope you don’t find my presence here too obtrusive, I beg an audience.” 

“ _Begging_ does not become an Officer,” Fallon says wagging one gloved finger with almost schoolmarm teasing. “ _Captain_.”

“Pardon my word choice, My Lord. I will speak plainly.” 

“Good,” Vette gives a small snort. “She’s big on _plainly_.” 

“ _Vette_.” Fallon says the name gently, but Malavai can hear the hint of disapproval behind it. “Continue, Captain.” 

“As you know, Lord Baras enabled my reassignment anywhere I choose. It is an evolution I longed for and assumed it would never come.” It’s _almost_ true. Save the detail that Baras ordered him here. And so _here_ is where he is. “Aiding your mission on this planet has reawakened the ambition I began my career with--to make the most profound impact for the Empire.” And that _is_ true. She makes it feel possible to shake the Galaxy to its foundations. In the short time they’ve worked together he’s bested odds that would baffle others without breaking a sweat. And she’s done so gracefully. 

“We share the same desire.” 

“Yes, I sensed as much.” He nods and then drops to kneeling before her, his arm resting on his knee, looking up at her.

Fallon towers over him, and he notices the small widening of her eyes and the flare of her nostrils as she inhales just a little more sharply. He forces himself to note it _professionally_ but can’t help but admire the view above him. 

“I cannot think of a more glorious and honorable way to make a difference in the galaxy than to serve you.” He says. “I’m here to pledge myself to you. I’m ready and willing to serve in whatever capacity you see fit.” 

“ _Whatever_ capacity?” Fallon says it with the edge of a caff-dark chuckle. “How exciting.” 

And it _is_. Malavai’s heartbeat quickens. He can pinpoint a dozen uses for himself just in that moment, just where he is. On his knees in front of her. 

This is a _mistake_. 

“More like _nauseating_ ,” Vette says, crossing her arms. 

“She thinks she’s funny,” Fallon explains, giving the twi’lek a sharp look and receiving a shrug in return but Vette backs away slightly, firmly rebuked. 

“My lord,” Quinn finds himself speaking just a little louder, boyish enthusiasm and an earnest desire to prove himself leaking through his decorum. He has been promoted. After all these years, he has _finally_ been given a way off this dead-end posting. “If given the chance I know I will prove myself to you. I’m a top-notch pilot, a military strategist and a deadly shot. I can fly this ship, plan your battles, assess your enemies and kill them. You won’t find a more tireless and loyal subject. I offer my military prowess and dedicate every ounce of my strength to your cause.” 

“I’d be pleased to have you.” Fallon extends a hand to help him to his feet and her grip is sturdy but not crushing. 

“The pleasure is mine, My lord. Thank you, I will submit my reassignment papers as we depart.”

Fallon nods and walks past him up into the ship, giving him an eyeful of the way she moves. 

Vette half-skips after her, stopping only to lean in and smirk. “She doesn’t do _lackeys_ , by the way. But nice try.” There is a sing-song lilt to the twi’lek’s tone. And Quinn finds that he detests it. 


	2. The Broysc Issue Introduced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still getting situated on Fallon's ship, Quinn is forced to mention the whole "Broysc" thing before Fallon can hear about it from a different source.

Her eyes are bright as she teases him for dodging her advances. Malavai swallows and steels himself, he can not let himself get invested. Her lips are painted a darker red than her skin. It is inviting in ways he tries not to consider. When she smirks it is as though she is beckoning. He cannot let himself desire her. 

“I am here to do a job, my lord.” 

Fallon nods. “Yes. I can see that.” Her manner shifts, closing off, the smile falling from her mouth with such ease that he almost wonders if it was genuine in the first place. “If you note deficiencies or you have suggestions about my operation, you are to inform my immediately.” 

“I will make such things clearly known.” He pulls himself to attention. “You can count on me.” 

“I’ve no doubt, Captain.” 

They are half-way to Nar Shadda when he receives word that Broysc has _heard_ that he’s no longer on Balmorra. He doesn’t know what the Moff will do about it. He doesn’t know what the Moff _can_ do about it, but so much as reading the name sets his teeth on edge. 

And, more importantly, dictates that he should tell Fallon about Druckenwell before she hears the _official_ version from someone else. Fortunately, Fallon seems to enjoy the quiet comfort of the stars and it’s not long before he hears her enter to cockpit. 

“Permission to speak freely, my Lord?” 

She raises a bemused brow, stern features warm if nearly condescending. “You may always speak freely, Quinn. I abide hedging and unquestioning obedience only from disposable pawns.” 

He lowers his arm from salute and nods. “I will keep that in mind.” He clears his throat. “There’s a reason I was languishing on Balmorra before you arrived. A decade ago I served under Moff Broysc at the Battle of Druckenwell.” He watches Fallon nod, clearly familiar with the battle itself, if not with the details. “Moff Broysc made a critical oversight that brought the fleet to the brink of complete defeat. I ignored his order and turned the tide to victory.” 

Fallon’s mouth twitches. He can feel the slightest pressure on his thoughts, but it dissipates quickly. “Then you are to be commended, Quinn.”

Despite himself, he shrugs. “Well, that’s not how the Moff saw it.” Noting his sudden lapse, Quinn straightens and clears his throat again. “Broysc took credit for the reversal, which is fine, but then he court-martialled me.” The fury starts to build again but he chokes it down, almost missing the way Fallon’s mouth opens partly and her eyes seem to glow. 

“You shouldn’t have let him take credit. It was his blunder, he should have borne the fruit. But,” she gestures elegantly, “continue.” 

“I--thank you, My lord. Darth Baras had me assigned to Balmorra or my career would have been over. Broysc has blocked every transfer or promotion I’ve been up for since.” 

Fallon snorts. “I’ve no tolerance for fools like this Moff.” She holds her head up like a challenge, as though inviting Broysc to try and alter _this_ transfer or _this_ promotion. 

“I could say more about him,” Quinn’s posture, still straighter than a ruler, eases just a little. “But my point is made.” He meets her eyes and forces himself not to blink or look away. “I serve you now. I have no regrets.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malavai accompanies Fallon in dealing with the last of Baras's spies and begins to wonder where he stands in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit time-skippy but who cares.

On Nar Shadda he watches her unleash fury and death upon her enemies. Her eyes blaze, actually glowing in the dimmer lights. Her red skin shines with the lightest sheen of sweat after her duel with Girik, but her voice is even and tempered, no more strained than when she sips her caff while reading aboard the _Fury_. She is poise in balance with passion and she reminds him of a snake, coiled content the moment before it lunges. 

She’s not a blunt instrument, her tone with the Hutts is clipped and irritated, but her posture remains relaxed as she tucks her lightsabers away. They insult her, and she bears it because she is _better_ than them and they can hurl barbed words because they stand behind the Empire’s protection. 

She will not put her personal annoyance above the good of the Empire, and Malavai is never more certain that he would _choose_ to be here even if Baras hadn’t ordered it. 

She fixes her eyes on his and his heart threatens to stop, her tongue traces the puff of her bottom lip, contemplating him, before she exhales and the moment passes. Her eyes clear and she gestures soundlessly the way they came. 

The only moment in which he questions her judgement comes when she faces the Republic Captain. He expects her to kill him, but Fallon unignites her lightsaber as the soldiers power down their weapons. It’s a symbolic gesture and everyone knows it. She could crush them bare handed and everything about her posture shows it. 

“I may have use for you,” she says when asked her terms. “You _will_ repay my mercy.” 

The Captain nods and gives her his holo frequency, promising to appear when summoned. She steps over the bodies of the dead imperials and Malavai’s stomach twists. 

“Troubled, Captain?” Fallon asks without looking at him, moving quickly towards the exit to rescue Setsyn. 

“Why spare them?” Malavai asks, keeping pace. “The Republic Soldiers, I mean.” 

“You don’t approve?” She spares him a curious look but only momentarily. “I know nothing of Rathari, having a few Republic Commandos to hurl at him is never a poor idea.” She wrinkles her nose. “If you have a tool, better to keep it around until you _know_ you don’t need it or it becomes a liability. Look at Commander Rylon. Even with his cover blown, he could have been extradited and provided key insight into our enemies workings. Rather than kill his son, we could have used the boy to _ensure_ his loyalty.” She shakes her head. “The death of the Imperials is a tragedy, but so was their commitment to following bad orders.” 

Halidreill is dead by the time they arrive and finish stamping out Rathari’s troops. He’s left a holo-recording filled with threats and a meeting place, challenging Fallon to a duel to the death. It stinks of a setup. Malavai looks to Fallon and she nods as he informs her of such. There’s no smile on her mouth, no glimmer of good humor in her eyes. 

“Commander Naughlen and his men owe me their lives.” She folds her hands behind her back after gesturing to you. “Hail them.” 

“At once, my Lord.” 

The holo of the Commander in your palm looks annoyed, but he doesn’t falter as Fallon tells him the plan and you tuck your comm away. “The proper tool, Quinn,” she looks at you. “When we spring Rathari’s trap, he’ll spring mine.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

_Not just a pretty face_. 

She baits Lord Rathari with words, playing the apprentice until she’s ready and then gives the signal to Naughlen and his men. The fight is short and visceral and at the end of it all of Rathari’s and half of Naughlen’s men are dead. Fallon’s yellow eyes meet Rathari’s and the Lord turns and drives his saber through the back of Agent Dellacon’s spine, killing him instantly. Rathari drops to his knees before her, and Fallon towers, watching his submission with muted interest as he swears himself to her. Offering his life to her in exchange for her mercy and the chance to watch her topple Baras. 

Malavai wasn’t sure what to make of _that_ , but it was fascinating watching her stalk towards a Lord in his own right, no more than an apprentice herself, with the easy gait of a predator. She tilts her head this way and that, making a great show of the consideration. “From now on, Rathari,” she lifts one hand and Rathari is dragged to standing by some invisible line around his throat. “My _power_ is your only interest in the galaxy.” 

“You have siphoned all other ambitions from me, my lord.” There is awe in his tone, and wonder. And Quinn doesn’t believe a word of it. 

She releases him. “I’ll call when I need you.” 

“The proper tool, my lord?” Malavai asks, still awestruck as she pads back to him. 

“Rathari’s operation, as we’ve seen, is extensive. It’s now mine.” Her mouth warms to a cruel smile. “He’ll plot to kill me of course, but with the right application of carrot and stick, Rathari will prove a useful tool.” 

“Much like with Vette?” 

To his surprise, Fallon shakes her head. “Vette was with me on Korriban. She is not a _tool_ , Quinn, she is a trusted asset. I reward all things with their due, cleverness with credit, loyalty with protection, fealty with love. Rathari is a weapon, Vette is an ally.”

“And me, my lord?” 

Fallon’s smile moves, hard to read. “I’m still figuring that out, Quinn.” 

His knees feel like water.


	4. Apnacks and Superspies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn fills Fallon in on the Voloren issue

She is _overly_ indulgent with Vette. The twi’lek lounges on the settee beside her, half upside down with her legs over the back, happily chewing on a piece of fresh fruit. Malavai can’t help but wonder if the luxury was purchased on Nar Shadda with Vette _in mind_ or if she simply took it. Neither would be out of character. She kicks her feet happily, humming under her breath something Quinn _thinks_ might be from one of the Opera’s Fallon is fond of. 

He cannot place which one. He is certain it doesn’t matter. 

Fallon’s eyes lift off the datapad and land on his. “Quinn,” she says with a small nod and the gentlest touch of a smile. 

“My lord.” He gives a short bow, tuning out Vette’s little snort as he does. “I have been working on something in my spare time, you may be interested.” 

“Regale me.” Her eyes move to the seat across from her, an invitation but not an order to sit. 

Malavai remains standing, he looks to Vette and back to her and Fallon lifts her brow, _daring_ him to ask. Nothing he’s about to share is sensitive, but it’s for _her_ and her alone. Idly, a back part of his brain wonders how desperate he is to impress her. How far he’ll go. How many stories of near-victories that _should_ have been victories he has to share. He languished on Balmorra for a decade, the idea that Fallon might think it’s because he was anything but cheated makes his blood _boil_. 

“Yeah, yeah. I get it,” Vette sighs. “Nice chatting with you, Boss.” 

The challenge in Fallon’s eyes remains a moment, but then softens. 

“Years ago I was zeroing in on a notorious SIS Agent called Voloren when Moff Broysc recalled me to the Battle of Druckenwell.” 

Fallon nods. 

“I had the spy cornered. I briefed Broysc so he could send someone else to take Voloren out. He ignored the opportunity.” 

“Is that a sliver of _rage_ , Quinn?” Fallon’s tone is deep and warm, washing over him in lightly mocking waves. “Is this a _personal_ vendetta?

He’s quick to straighten and clear his throat, forcing the wall of professionalism between them. “I . . . admit, knowing I was so close to ending his career made languishing on Balmorra even _more_ difficult. But I take this on only for the good of the Empire. This spy has caused immeasurable losses. I know his signature and by tracing his accomplishments, I’ve picked up his scent.” 

She folds and unfolds her legs, the movement drawing his eyes until he forces them back onto hers. “Then it’s imperative you find him.” 

“Very good, my lord.” 

“You continue to impress me, Captain,” she purrs and he remembers what she said about carrots and sticks and not knowing where he fit yet. She reaches into the small basket on the table and selects a shiny green fruit. “Vette’s had hers, Quinn, have an Apnack. A taste of Dromund Kaas that you’ve been missing.” 

He sinks his teeth into the skin as she leaves and closes his eyes. Apnacks are spicy when cooked through, adding a layer of heat to any dish, but when raw the fruit is juicy and sweet, just the touch of numbing bitterness near the pit. 

Familiar and aching of home. 


	5. Aldaraanian Nights, Aldaraanian Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallon, with Quinn at her side, begins tracking Jaesa Willsaam, starting on her home planet of Alderaan.

Alderaan is beautiful. The sky is a crisp blue and the air almost sweet from the many variations of wildflowers. Fallon appears behind Quinn in the cockpit. “I require your company,” she says. 

“Of course, My Lord.” 

“Have you been to Alderaan before?” 

“No, my lord. I have not.” 

“It’s lovely and everyone is lying.” Fallon’s mouth warms. “I came here once as a girl, that’s the lesson my mother left me with. _Fortunately_ , the nobles are afraid of much. It’s a planet of motivation and simmering tempers held back by the bridle of civility and hidden hedonisms. Should be quite the adventure.” 

“I look forward to it, My Lord.” He hopes his tone betrays nothing. As he follows her he takes note that she’s changed, rather than her more comfortable outfit, Fallon wears a black shirt with loose mesh sleeves and a long black skirt, slit up one side to her crimson thigh to keep from interfering in a fight. He keeps his eyes at shoulder-height to keep from getting distracted by the tantalizing crimson flashes when she walks. 

He admires her for it, however, for how her every choice and move seems weighed and measured. If the Duke is caught _half_ as off-guard, Fallon will have him by the balls. 

The Duke is a rude little man who orders you both killed, only to discover that the sith surrounding him are properly loyal to the Emperor. Their leader, a man a head taller than Fallon and twice as broad, offers her a low and polite bow that’s followed by similar bows from the others. 

“Good to know there are those here with respect.” Fallon’s praise is warm, her eyes glowing as they set on the leader and she tips her head, bringing her hands up together in thanks but doing it in a way that allows her fingertips to shift the fabric of her skirt and gift him (and Quinn) a glimpse of red skin. 

“I am FimmRess,” the sith says. “We consider you a friend.” 

Fallon turns her attention back to Kendoh and lifts her brow skeptically as he stammers over himself. A worm, but a useful one for the moment. He offers paltry information, and Malavai feel like he’s holding _something_ back but he’s not not sure what. 

She exits the room without another word, Quinn at her side. 

Lady Renata’s champion, a brute with an electrostaff and a poor grasp of grammar, dies quickly. Even with the skirt, Fallon is fury made flesh. She steps on the corpse as she advances on Lady Renata, her eyes cruel. 

But to Malavai’s surprise, she listens. When Renata drops to her knees, sobbing, to say that she’s been fending off Kendoh’s advances for months, Fallon’s features soften. She demands the name and whereabouts of the padawan’s family and turns her head so sharply Quinn is certain he’s missed a sound. 

He has not. FimmRess and Kendoh’s sith are advancing through the path she’d carved. “Duke Kendoh can include the girl's whereabouts in his interrogation.” 

“No!” Lady Renata pleads. “I’ll--I’ll tell you everything. Just, keep me from him.” 

“Be thorough,” Fallon says. She listens to every detail, every scrap, that the lady offers. It isn’t much and Quinn is certain that more would be gained through interrogation, unpleasant as it’s going to be. 

But Fallon stops FimmRess with one hand as he moves to touch the lady. “She stays,” she says sternly. 

And Quinn is speechless. Here is the one chink in an armor of perfect practicality. There is nothing to be gained and only an ally (useless as he seems) to alienate. But, despite his complaints, FimmRess withdraws. 

Fallon’s eyes fall back on Renata’s. “He’ll be back. You will need a better champion. I suggest you find one.” And then she turns and leaves. 

“My lord?” Quinn asks as they reach the speeders. 

“I do not owe you an explanation, Quinn,” she reminds him. “It is enough to say that I was in a similar position once. I will not indulge Kendoh’s . . . _lust_ simply because he thinks it’s owed to him. Moreover, I will not be _used_ in such a fashion.”

“. . . yes, My Lord.” 

When Duke Kendoh expresses his _disappointment_ , every trace of calm disappears from Fallon’s features and she is furious and striking. She clenches her fist and Kendoh flies into her grip. It’s the first time Malavai feels compelled to take into account how _tall_ she is. She is three inches taller and he is and as such Duke Kendoh, a small man, is forced to the balls of his feet, eyes staring into hers. “I _suspect_ ,” she hisses, “self-preservation is a motivator. I am not your _lackey_.” 

She drops him. Malavai’s heart starts to beat again. There is control even in her fury. The Duke had stopped immediately in her grip, nose an inch from hers. Not _one_ of her hairs was out of place, skirt billowing in the wind she’d kicked up. 

“C-Consider me motivated.” 

She listens, nostrils flared, as the Duke underlies a plan to reach General Gesselle Organa and learn what she needs about Willsaams origins. Fallon looks to Malavai. “What do you think, Captain? Will it work?” 

Malavai straightens instinctively when he’s addressed and considers the plan. He doesn’t trust Kendoh, less now that he did before Fallon had alienated and threatened him, but the plan is solid if the information is accurate. 

Furthermore, they have no other recourse. 

“Thank you, Captain.” Fallon looks back at Kendoh and turns dismissively, heading back into the Alderaanian night. 

When they have the general cornered, Blenks gives away her weakness. _Gesselle, get behind me_. Fallon looks almost bored when Gesselle attempts to claim she lacks a soft heart, and she extends a hand. Blenks is lifted as though by two fingers under his chin. “Flea of a servant? Hmm?” Fallon says. 

“This isn’t working.” Gesselle swallows. Quinn watches her eyes as they moisten and flicker away. “I’m not so . . . not so easily. . .” Gesselle breaks. She spills out information in rambling sentences between breathless pleas until Fallon drops Blenks. 

“Pray your information is useful, _General_ ,” she says softly. “Your man gets to live.”

She looks at Quinn as they leave. “She’ll be fortunate if he’s not a vegetable.” 

“I assume they’ll get him into kolto quickly.” 

“It should keep her distracted from the war effort. Our forces can use that. Inform them.” Fallon keeps her eyes on the exit. 

When they find the Willsaams, Fallon is gracious, but unmoving. The Jedi standing in her way is ignored in favor of a terrified pair of servants, and Fallon does the unthinkable, rather than killing them, she offers them a way out. The negotiations take only a few moments, the carrot and stick technique. The Willsaams will live, Imperial Servants, and the Jedi is disgraced. The damage to Jaesa is done. 

As Fallon leaves, Quinn at her side, she offers him the sliver of a smile. “Remember what I said about Rylon’s son?” 

He nods. “You mean to tempt Willsaam, not kill her.” 

“Oh, she’ll die if she must, but her talent interests me. How much more useful would it be to have her _doubt_ that I’m a monster? To make her susceptible to the seduction of the dark side?” Fallon’s eyes are bright.

“Clever, my lord.” 

Her Holocom buzzes and Quinn immediately bows to Darth Baras and step to the side. Fallon's expression darkens as she listens to Duke Kendoh’s slander after telling Baras that the Willsaams are heading to him on the next transport. “Give me permission to kill him,” she growls. It is not a request.

“All that matters to me is that the mission is complete. For whatever reason, the man has taken it upon himself to slander you. I have no further use for Duke Kendoh, punish him however you wish.” 

The holocom clicks off and Fallon turns to lock eyes with Quinn. “I do hope you have a strong stomach, Captain.” 

“Strong enough, my lord.” 

She smiles faintly. “Yes, I’d hoped as much.” 

There is no smile when she greets Duke Kendoh. She is silent as he flailingly tries to explain himself, speaking only to FimmRess after he says, “If Duke Baras’s apprentice has decided you die, we will abide by the decision.” 

“That _is_ the decision.” Fallon nods. 

“It will be a relief to be done with this assignment. Can we assist at all?” FimmRess’s expression is calmer and more pleased than Quinn had noted previously. 

“Sweet of you to offer, but I don’t need any help,” Fallon reaches out and Duke Kendoh claws for his neck. “No, Kendoh, this will take a moment.” She says, almost mockingly gentle. “You belittle me, you threaten me, you mislead me in an attempt to force yourself on a woman, you slander me, you lie to me.” She sighs. “This is what a stroke feels like. I could just crush your trachea, but instead I’m pinching the blood vessels. Too long without blood and the brain dies.” She jerks him forward and drops him into the path of her lightsaber. The Light dies and the stink of cauterized flesh fills Quinn's nose. “Of course, I’ve got something of a schedule to keep.” She looks back to FimmRess. “I hope your Master assigns you somewhere more interesting.” 

“Thank you, My Lord.” 

She looks back to Quinn. “Let’s leave. There’s much to be done.


	6. Closing The Book On Voloren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn tracks down and settles and old score, with his lord's blessing.

“My Lord.” Malavai raps on the door to Fallon’s private chamber. She opens it with a wave, sitting up from the bed where she had been reclining, her hair down and a loose fitting robe draped over her shoulders. 

“Captain?” 

“I apologize for the interruption, but the information is time sensitive.” He clears his throat and fixes his gaze on her face. “My efforts to locate SIS Agent Voloren have paid off. There is a small window of opportunity to confront him. I can handle the matter personally; permission to intercept and bring him down?”

She nods. “There’s no time to waste. He must be stopped.” Her eyes are like candles in the dim red light. 

“I appreciate your decisiveness, my lord.” Malavai salutes. “The Empire will finally be served. I’ll return shortly.” 

“Holo for our location,” Fallon says. “We will _likely_ be on Tatooine.” She rises off the mattress, liquid grace in inky black. “And enjoy yourself while you’re gone, Captain.” She walks past him, down the corridor to Vette’s chamber and Malavai hurries to the helm and plugs in the coordinates for the Imperial Fleet. 

#

He corners Voloren in a shuttle bay, the lights of the ship they’re on flashing as an automated voice informs them to get to the escape pods. Malavai shoot the Agent in the knee to keep him from running and then in back. He kicks the other man’s gun aside and permits himself a moment to relish the terror on the Republic Spy’s face before he plants three blaster bolts in it. He commanders a small craft and makes his escape, all told a job well done. 

His elation lasts as he holos _The Fury_ for their location and dims only when he is met with the twi’lek and not Fallon. 

“ _Great_ , it’s you,” Vette says over the holocom, rolling her eyes. “Faaaaaalllloooon.” 

“I will assume you are only so informal because it’s _Captain Quinn_ on the other end,” Fallon calls from out of view. 

“Obviously.” Vette leaves and Fallon slides into her place, looking somewhere between exasperated and amused. Her full lips and pulled up into a smile and she gives a small shake of her head, yellow eyes closed, as it to say _ah, children._

“My lord.” Quinn nods his head in deference. “I’m pleased to report Agent Voloren’s decade of espionage has been brought to an end. It is a great day for the Empire.” 

“Well done, Captain.” Fallon inclines her head just a little, pleased acknowledgement and nothing more. “It’s not everyday you get to close the book on a long score.” 

“It was long overdue. Thank you for allowing me to pursue this, my lord.” 

“Ensure that you get credit,” Fallon said. “You said you had ambitions, I expect you to chase them. In the meantime, however, head for the Mos Ila spaceport on Tatooine.”

“Yes, My Lord. I will meet you there presently.” 

The holo clicks off and Quinn stares for a long moment at the space where her face had been. The little smile, the obvious pleasure in her tone. 

_You said you had ambitions, I expect you to chase them_. 

He can’t help but wonder how high she will let him climb. He’d stopped hungering to be a Grand Moff when his career was almost ruined, but now there’s the pang in his stomach and at the corners of his mouth. 

If he is loyal to Baras, if he is loyal to Fallon, perhaps they will let him reach the top. 


	7. Tattooine Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn's attraction to Fallon becomes just a little distracting and Tatooine remains unpleasant.

As little as Quinn liked Nar Shadda, the moment he lands, he’s forced to consider that Tatooine might _actually_ be his least favorite planet. The air itself is blisteringly hot and he can feel himself begin to sweat in his uniform. 

Fallon, as always, is collected. She’s back in her tube top, jacket left behind in the ship. “You’ll be miserable in that outfit,” she tells him. “Lose the undershirt, I know you’d feel out of place without the jacket.” 

“I would, My Lord,” Quinn says. “It feels wrong working without the uniform.” 

He changes on the ship, and reemerges feeling strange but cooler and still _looking_ like an Imperial officer. There’s something . . . almost exhibitionist about wearing only the jacket. As though he’s secretly naked. 

He’s not. 

He’s not sure he _dislikes_ the feeling either. Not when Fallon gives him a tiny smile, as though she _knows_. He clears his throat and falls into step beside her. 

Baras’s contact is something of a cultist, as far as Malavai can tell. She speaks strangely, but her loyalty to Baras is undeniable and, in the end, that’s all that matters. She directs them to a soothsayer and tells them that Jaesa Willsaam went into the cave of a “sand demon” where she enacted an ancient ritual. 

The soothsayer can tell them more. 

Fallon’s speeder seats two and he almost hesitates before throwing his leg over and setting her hands on her hips. There a small growl in the back of his mind, the urge to scoot closer and tighten his grip. But, given the twitch in his trousers, it would be _profoundly_ unwise. And it’s too hot to be that close regardless. 

“Quinn,” Fallon says his name softly. “Scoot up and hold on.” 

He obeys. The thin line of sweat on her crimson shoulders making her skin cool to the touch as his chin accidentally brushes it. 

He wants to drink her in. 

And that’s _incredibly_ inappropriate. He focuses on being uncomfortable instead. Uncomfortable is easy. The air is blistering and dusty. There are rats a metre long. Fallon’s speeder vibrates between his legs (and between _hers_ and that’s not a productive line of thought _at all_ ) his jacket is just the slightest bit itchy, not meant to be worn by itself. 

#

The sand demon is, as described, horrible, but it doesn’t notice them immediately. When Quinn suggests that there may be a force trick to it, if Jaesa Willsaam didn’t have to fight, Fallon’s mouth warms with approval. She tucks her sabers away and walks ahead of him, her pace measured and steady, maintaining easy eye-contact with the monster in front of them. 

The sand demon clicks and roars, but Fallon remains unmoved. 

“I will not run,” she says evenly, neither shouting nor hissing. Her chin is held high. “This ground is _mine_ and I will hold it.” 

The demon clicks again, more quietly, shifting its weight as though unsure of what to do with itself. Quinn catches his breath, not for fear, but out of awe. 

“Meet my gaze, monster,” Fallon takes a step closer as she is obeyed. “Be at peace.” 

The demon slumps to the ground and Fallon ignites her saber and slices through its carapace with ease. The blood that seeps out is pungent and there’s rather more of it than Quinn was expecting. 

“I’ve never seen a creature bleed so much. It seems we are really intended to _bathe_ in its blood.” He watches with muted horror and fascination as Fallon smears the thick liquid over her arms and chest, leaving them glistening. 

“If you are concerned about stains, Captain,” Fallon’s eyes are bright. “I would leave your jacket with the speeder and carry on without it.” 

The stench is foul, he focuses on that as he undoes the buttons and permits--not that he could have stopped her--Fallon to dribble the blood over his shoulders. 

He tries not to breathe, both to spare himself the smell and to keep his breath from catching as she smears the blood with her fingers, increasing the coverage. With his jacket over his arm, Quinn follows Fallon back out of the cave and into the desert sun. The blood is less foul when it’s dry and the colors are brighter. The sand people flee as they approach and the shaman’s tent is open and unguarded. 

Breev meets them there, her eyes wide as they drink in the blood on their skin. “I could not believe my eyes,” she says breathlessly. “The Sand People all ran from you. What transpired within the Sand Demon’s cave to make this so?” 

“The beast is slain,” Fallon says. 

“You’ve bathed in the blood,” Breev’s mouth falls open in wonder, eyes tracing the red patterns on Quinn’s shoulders, where they stand out more starkly than on Fallon’s. “It’s essence fills the air. Izeebowe said your path would be illuminated he--”

Quinn taps Fallon’s elbow, just once, and gestures with his eyes past Breev to the sand person standing in the door, clutching something in a fist. 

“The Shaman,” Breev clarifies, stepping back. 

The Shaman shuffles, face down, towards Fallon and extends shaking hands holding a weathered parchment. Fallon takes it and the Shaman bows again, shuffling, terrified, backwards out of the tent. 

“My lord?” 

“It’s a map, crude, but clear enough,” Fallon says, offering it to Breev. “You _are_ our guide.” 

“Yes,” Breev studies the pictures and nods to herself. “It marks a door carved into the side of the Desert Wound Ravine.” She shakes her head. “I’ve mapped the Ravine, there is no such door.” 

“Regardless, if Jaesa went, we must follow.”

“I shudder to think what awaits you there,” Breev insists. “Here are the coordinates, I will follow, stealthed. The ravine marks the farthest I or anyone I know have gone in the desert.” 

“Well, that will be exciting.” Fallon’s mouth quirks into a small smile. “And an issue for tomorrow. For tonight, we camp.” She settles onto the Shaman’s mat and locates a rag. With sand as an abrasive, she begins scrubbing the blood from her skin. 

Quinn excuses himself to to the same, and offer her some privacy. As he scrubs the blood from his chest and shoulders his mind wanders, Tatooine is inhospitable to those who _know_ it. He isn’t sure what they’ll eat. The cave, while better than being out in the open, is the home of sand people who will likely want it back. Moreover, the lack of clouds during the day means that the night will be frigid. 

(he pictures Fallon rubbing sand over her breasts and shoulders to clean them. The expression of determined discomfort on her face) 

He pulls on his jacket and buttons it up. Protected and professional once more. When he returns Breev has vanished, Fallon explains, off looking for whatever there is to eat. 

Quinn nods. 

She gestures to the mat beside her. 

“The night will be cold, My Lord.” Quinn says, stepping to her side but falling into parade rest, rather than sitting. 

“Yes, I know. So, tell me about your conquest over Voloren.” Her mouth twists. “And sit, I don’t want to have to look up at you.”

 

At _that_ , he settles to sitting near her but still not on the mat. He tells her about tracking Voloren to his ship and facing him down in the hangar, delivering the relevant information as though he was reading a report. 

“Quinn,” Fallon uses his name as though make a point. “When I want a report, I will read one. I want the _story_. I want to know how it felt to look into the eyes of an enemy denied you for ten years and finally finish him.”

“Apologies, my lord.” He falls silent for a moment and then looks back at her, skin shiny and raw from her sand bath. 

“We’ll be warmer if we sleep together,” Fallon says. “The three of us.” 

Quinn nods, his eyes pointed forward, trying to keep his ears from burning. “Yes, my lord. I would suggest that Breev take the middle. She’s the smallest. Or you, my lord, as the most important.” 

“I’m the least at risk of freezing, Captain.” She lights the fire and stretches back. “Korriban is a desert. The tombs are not much warmer than this cave at night and filled with k’lor slugs and tuk’ata.” She sounds nearly homesick. “I once slaughtered three tuk’ata to make a bed, using their still warm bodies to keep off the ground and therefore warmer. The smell lasted into the next day, but I survived the night.”

Breev returns with some meat (perhaps it’s best not to know what kind) and cooks it over the fire as the air starts to cool. Soon, the smell of roasting meat fills the air and overpowers the traces of sand demon blood, for which Malavai is grateful. After they’ve eaten, Fallon calls Breev to her, close to her and speaks in low, urging tones about their plan to keep warm by keeping close. 

There is a twitch in Quinn’s trousers and a twinge in his chest that might be jealousy. Fallon smiles when Breev nods her agreement, tan cheeks flushed and starting to worry her lips. She curls up beside Fallon on the mat, her ass pressed to Fallon’s hips and Fallon’s eyes find Malavai’s. “See you in the morning, Captain.” 

There is no profit in freezing to death and so Quinn settles on Breev’s other side, lying on his back with his hands folded on his stomach, the blankets they’ve gathered over him and the mat acting as an insulator below. 

In the night Breev curls her arms around him, shifting to use his shoulder as a pillow and it jerks him awake _just enough_ that he turns his head and meets Fallon’s eyes for the briefest moment. She shrugs one shoulder and inches closer, her long limbs wrapped around Breev to leech the heat. Breev makes a small noise, almost desperate. Quinn clears his throat and counts backwards until he’s asleep.

> Fallon’s breath is hot in his ear, her hands twisted in his uniform jacket. Her lips are blood slick when they press to his. There’s blood on his hands, _Voloren’s_ blood, when he cups her cheeks and drinks her in, tasting rust and apnack on her tongue. Her sharp teeth rake across his lower lip when they part. Fallon sinks to her knees and runs her tongue along the length of his cock. She takes him apart by inches, feverish and hot. He thrusts into her mouth, gripping her perfect hair with his bare hands until he cums and she withdraws, yellow eyes teasing up at him. She licks blood off her upper lip, inviting him to taste it himself. 

In the morning, he is the first one awake. The dream lingers for a few moments and he surreptitiously checks that Fallon and Breev are asleep and that he hasn’t ruined his pants. They are and he hasn’t, though he is _painfully_ erect. He slowly disentangles himself from Breev’s embrace and slides out from under the covers, shivering just a little. The cold is good. He heads outside to relieve and _relieve_ himself. It will be warm again soon, and then too hot. 

He returns in short order, in time to watch the blankets stir. 

Fallon shifts as she wakes up, her long black hair down around her shoulders. She sits up and stretches, yawning like a cat. Her eyes meet Quinn’s and lift from his eyes to his hair, still uncombed and the smile on her mouth warms just a little. She reaches up and pins her hair back in place, the motion so practiced that she doesn’t need to look as she does it. Then she wakes Breev and has some water, offering the canteen to Quinn, who takes it gratefully. 

“Breakfast,” Fallon says, “and then let’s see what secrets are hidden in this ravine.” 

He expects her to comment on his _condition_ in the night, but if she noticed, she doesn’t say anything. Perhaps with Breev there she hadn’t noticed. 

He has never been this distracted while working in his life. It might very well be heat exhaustion. At least, thus far, it hasn’t seemed to detract from his efficiency, if it does, he’ll ask Darth Baras to reassign him. 

#

At the Oasis, Fallon kneels beside the pool and Quinn watches in amazement as her reflection, glowing with pale blue light, rises from the waters to deride her for being a monster. “Quinn,” Fallon says with a lover’s tenderness, “stay out of this.” 

Her sabers ignite as her doubles do and the two leap for one another, exchanging blow and block, sweeping out and snarling. Fallon catches her double by the throat and slams her into the dirt. “ _This_ , is passion,” she growls, “fury. _Strength_. You will _relent._ ”

The glowing imitation cries out, but not with pain. Her head tilts back and she dissipates, absorbed into Fallon’s very skin. Though gone, she speaks, offering a glimpse of the path ahead as Fallon kneels in contemplation. When she stands rolls her head on her neck, she seems stronger, her eye eyes bright. “The Forbidden Pass,” she says. “We’re nearing our Quarry.”

“Did--” Breev blinks. “What did I just watch? Did you just tell _yourself_ to venture through the Forbidden Pass?” 

“Yes,” Fallon replies. 

“I am chilled to the bone.The desert beyond the Forbidden Pass is an area that no one can survive. _No one_. Even the Sand People dare not go. You _mustn’t_ go.” 

Fallon chuckles, a low, deep sound. With one gloved hand she strokes Breev’s cheek and Quinn watches the younger woman lean into the embrace. “I _must_ go.” 

“No,” Breev whines. “This isn’t some silly superstition, I cannot, I _will not_ follow you there.” 

Fallon tilts Breev’s chin up and presses her mouth to the younger woman’s while Quinn’s eyes widen. The kiss is deep and hungry and Breev groans with disappointment as it ends. “I’ve appreciated your assistance to this point, Sharack.” 

“With--” Breev swallows and licks her lips. “With a heavy heart I give you the location of the Forbidden Pass. I fear I will never see you again.” 

“I have no intention of dying in the desert.” Fallon turns to look at Quinn and notes the stiffness in his stance. He forces himself to relax. “Come, Captain. We have a Jedi to slaughter.” 

“My lord,” Quinn finds his tongue as they make their way to the speeders. “May I ask--”

“You didn’t hear us last night?” Fallon asks, her eyes bright and teasing. “And here I thought Sharack grabbing your chest in her passions would have given us away.” She throws her leg over her speeder. “She was quiet, however, which was what I wanted most.” 

“ _Last night_.” He says, disbelieving. 

“She moved my hand in her sleep,” Fallon explains. “When I woke her to check, she was still _most_ interested. I’m sith, I feed off my passions.” 

“I had no idea you were attracted to women, My Lord.” 

“If I am attracted to a man, it is only because he is _fascinating_ in some fashion, Quinn. I prefer women in every sense.” 

#

Master Yonlach incapacitates him almost immediately and Quinn awakens with his head in Fallon’s lap, surrounded by the corpses of both Yonlach and Youn-li. The signs of the fight are impressive, not a piece of furniture remains unscathed, Youn-li is missing an arm and a leg. Quinn stands immediately and adjusts his uniform, looking around and trying to forget the near serenity of Fallon’s features when his eyes had first opened. “My Lord, I’m sorry I was of no use to you. I did not expect the Jedi’s incapacitating tactic.” He frowns. Being caught by surprise is the _worst_ feeling. 

“You’re too hard on yourself.” She follows him to standing and kicks the orphaned leg away from her. “I fight better when angry.” 

“I’m just thankful my support proved to be unnecessary. Sharack Breev said she would meet us at our ship. She thought we were doomed. We should inform her of our success.” 

“She’ll be so surprised.”

Quinn snorts. “She should not have doubted you.” 

#

Sharack Breev looks utterly floored as Fallon and Quinn enter the hangar. Her composure slips, knees clearly weak as she studies Fallon and babbles about how inspired she is. Fallon cups her cheek and flicks her chin fondly with her knuckle as she parts. “I will remember you fondly as well,” she offers and then gestures for Breev to leave. 

Quinn’s posture relaxes as soon as Breev is out of sight. “It will be good to put this overheated sandbox behind us, my lord.” 

“You look good with a tan, _Captain_ ,” Fallon teases. 

“I hope it hides my blushes, my lord.” 

“It does not,” she observes, “which may be my favorite thing about it.” She brushes past him up the ramp and into the _Fury_ , calling for Vette as the door opens. 


	8. Messages and Mixed Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaesa sends a message to The Fury and Quin attempts to weasel out of his attraction towards Fallon.

The _Fury_ is quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound. Quinn can’t sleep, pinned to his sheets by the knowledge that, only a few days prior, Fallon had rubbed Breev raw against him and he’d never noticed. Never _suspected_. 

Because he’d been _determined_ not to look down, not to notice anything. Because he needed to remain professional. But he is in his quarters, the door shut and locked and it’s easy enough to relieve his own tension. Behind his eyes the scene plays out differently than it must have in life. Fallon’s long red fingers work in Breev, the younger woman writhing against her, stifling her cries by biting into Quinn’s jacket. 

When he cums he cleans himself off and sits up out of bed, now far too awake to return to sleep and only an hour ahead of schedule. He pulls on his pants and undershirt and heads for the fresher, stopping when he notices a dim light on near the little lounge and music.

The tune is soft, one of the arias Fallon loves so much. A gentle piece sung in ancient sith by a woman with a high, airy voice. 

He pauses as he notices Fallon reading, her near translucent sleeping robe draped over her frame, hair down and a cup of steaming caff on the table in front of her. 

Quinn looks back into his room, wondering if he should grab his jacket. If he should _try_ and look a little more professional than his undershirt and pants made him. This was the trouble in living in close quarters with one’s Commanding officer.

“Care to join me, Quinn?” Fallon says, her eyes lifting off the datapad briefly before dropping back down. 

“I had intended to use the refresher, my lord,” Quinn straightens as he speaks. “Perhaps after?”

“Of course.” She sets the datapad aside as he passes her and offers a small, chiding sigh. When he looks she is wearing a teasing smile. “You know, you could drop the stoic soldier routine when we’re alone. Show me a little attention.”

Quinn freezes. “I’m not sure what you mean, my lord.” 

He knows _exactly_ what she means. 

Had he cried out? Had she _heard_ him?

“Don’t tell me I’m not your type.” Fallon lifts one eyebrow as she raises her cup to her lips. 

“Indeed not.” Quinn answers, almost too quickly. “You are not a _type_ , my lord. You are a wholly unique woman.” He clears his throat. “I am unused to balancing business and pleasure. I am here to do a job.”

Fallon takes a drink and sets her cup down, lifting her datapad in its place. “So you’ve said. If you’re not interested, Quinn, simply say so.” The entire action felt dismissive. “Enjoy your shower.” 

#

The message comes in the middle of Fallon’s report to Darth Baras, recorded so there is no hurry and, even it there is, Quinn isn’t going to interrupt Fallon and Baras for anything short of a catastrophe.

 

He is _not_ an idiot, he knows how the sith work. Likely someday Fallon would turn on Darth Baras and Quinn had been placed as insurance against that. The tensions between them were already building, though not, in so far as Quinn could tell, because of any animosity on Fallon’s part. 

He understood the few points against their master that she’d raised in the past. But she didn’t seem to be _actively_ working to consolidate a power base _against_ him. She was merely building a power base. 

It doesn’t matter in the immediate in any case. Quinn queues up the recording and heads for the lounge where Fallon and Baras are finishing up. He gives Vette a frown where she is lying upside down on the settee, again, her lekku on the floor. 

Inappropriately casual for their situation and locations.

Vette sticks her tongue out, but rolls upright and follows him to Fallon’s side. 

“My lord,” he says. “I thought it prudent not to interrupt Darth Baras. We’ve received a recorded transmission, it is queued when you are ready.” He waits for Fallon to nod before he begins playback. 

The woman speaking is young, maybe Vette’s age. She has on long robes and no ornamentation, but she speaks with a strong, clear voice and introduces herself _immediately_ as Jaesa Willsaams. “My master, Nomen Kaar, has no idea that I’m sending this message.” She says. “Let’s be real--we both know that this isn’t about us.”

“Ah, the hunted seeks the hunter,” Quinn says. 

Fallon nods, a small smile on her full lips. “I’m impressed.” 

“Our masters pretend otherwise, but this is personal. You and I are only pawns in their private war and those I care about are caught in the middle. It has to stop,” Jaesa’s recording continues. 

“Gotta give it to her,” Vette nods, almost mesmerized. “She’s sure got guts.”

“She certainly has.” Fallon agrees. Quinn can see the wheels in her mind turning, but can’t trace their end.

“I sense inconsistency in your actions. Maybe you’re as tired of all this passive-aggressive foolishness as I am. This message includes coordinates where I’ll be waiting in my ship. Let’s discuss this face-to-face, no more nonsense.” The message ends and Fallon folds her hands behind her back. 

“Impressions?” She looks first to Quinn.

“It could be a trap, my lord. Nomen Kaar could have put her up to it.” 

“Oh, don’t listen to Captain Paranoid,” Vette huffs. “I believe her.” 

Fallon nods, but keeps her own assessment of the situation private. “Keep this between us for now, Baras will be informed when _I_ deem it so.” Her eyes fix on Quinn’s. “No need to worry, Captain, I don’t intend to keep it to myself for long. Put the coordinates in, Captain. I’ll decide if we’re going shortly.” 

#

He hates Nar Shadda, but Fallon was clear that there was going to be slight detour on their way to rendezvous with Jaesa Willsaam’s vessel. Nar Shadda is _nominally_ on the way. He doesn’t ask for details, and Fallon doesn’t offer any, but he _is_ surprised when she leaves the ship with Vette instead, leaving him to watch the _Fury_. 

The hours pass uneventfully, but give him a chance to think. It is quiet. Generally, he appreciates the quiet, but the nagging question of where she and Vette had gone and what they were up to lingers.

He doesn’t _need_ to know, but he also doesn’t like _not knowing_. 

Moreover, he has grown accustomed to Fallon’s presence. It’s only a day and he catches himself surprised when she isn’t reclined on the settee reading or listening to Vette’s chatter. The soft sound of Opera that often carries through her bedroom door is missing. She isn’t standing behind his seat, watching the stars. 

It has been _months_ since Balmorra. It’s not surprising that’s his acclimated to her presence. The only surprise is that, as opposed to other people he has worked with, Quinn finds that he _misses_ her. 

Which is probably not a good thing. 

She and Vette return and she drops an apnack in his lap as she leans over the Captain’s chair. “You seemed to enjoy them.” 

He nods. “Yes, My Lord.” He doesn’t add that they were a childhood favorite. That they were one of pieces of _home_ he missed most. “I trust your mission was a success?”

Quinn looks up and finds that her eyes are warm, cheeks flushed to a shade darker, a single strand of perfect hair out of place. The effect is striking. 

“Vette is grinning like a newborn star.” Fallon says, stepping away and leaning against the wall. “And it has been a while since I celebrated. I forgot my fondness for Nar Shaddan ice wine. Take us out, Captain.” 

“Right away, My Lord.” He plugs in the take off sequence and waits for the go ahead from the landing crew.

“She got revenge on the man responsible for her most recent enslavement.” Fallon says, despite no explanation being required. She tilts her head back, the long red line of her neck inviting. Her eyes close with contentment. “It’s comforting to see her grow less squeamish about death.” 

He nods. 

“Enjoy your apnack, Captain. Take us to Jaesa Willsaam.” 


	9. Two Little Jedi Jumping On The Bed (One fucking bailed, the other's dead)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their trip to Jaesa's vessel proves to be something of a trap.

Quinn cannot muster any surprise when they board Willsaam’s ship and find a pair of Jedi waiting for them instead. He casts a surreptitious glance at Fallon and sees that she’s not particularly stunned either. In fact, she sighs and gives the more talkative of the two an irritated glance. 

Her glower clears in short order and turns into a mocking smile. “You _want_ to kill me,” she almost laughs as she says it. “You’d be _disappointed_ if I gave up.” 

“Not at all,” the larger, calmer of the two Jedi says. “We don’t go around picking fights.” 

This is _patently_ untrue of the Jedi in Quinn’s experience, but he is silent, hand near but not on his blaster as he stands a half-step behind Fallon, just to her right, where he can fire unimpeded if required. 

“I wouldn’t trust it if a sith surrendered,” the shorter one tells his friend. “I prefer the sureness of death.” 

Quinn watches the corner of Fallon’s mouth, and the way her weight shifts to be non-aggressive, and her intentions are laid bare. 

“True jedi don’t attack to kill,” she says, tilting her head slightly to the side, her gold jewelry sparkling in the orange light. “The light side of the Force demands temperance.” 

She is calm, stoic. 

In contrast, the brasher jedi flies into a rage, starting to shout. “Who are _you_ to lecture about the light side? The Sith _force_ us to take measures like this!” 

“You, Sith, pose an exception,” the larger of the two says, his voice still measured and calm. “Your vile attempts to hurt Nomen Kaar and Jaesa Willsaam are provocation enough.” 

“Adorable,” Fallon says. “You’re rationalizing your behaviour because you _want_ to fight me. You’re looking for excuses that make it permissible.” 

“That’s _enough_ out of _you_!” The smaller jedi snaps. “Ulldin! Let’s end this.” 

“No, Zylixx. I--” The larger jedi drops his gaze, resolve shaken. “I am unsure. Master Kaar claims this Sith means Jaesa harm, but we have no proof.”

“Master Kaar’s word is proof enough. I have no crisis of conscience assuming his assessment is sound.” 

Fallon’s mouth moves minutely. A tiny smirk at the assurance of her victory. 

“That’s an assumption I cannot make, my friend,” Ulldin turns. “I will not engage. I must walk away and I urge you to do the same.” 

Ulldin leaves and, to Quinn’s surprise, Fallon allows it. Her eyes never leave Zylixx’s, still teasing and merciless. Quinn remembers her assessment of General Gesselle, how sometimes it is better to _break_ an enemy than to destroy them. Ulldin’s faith in his code is shaken and _now_ there is only one adversary.

It was clever, even if it meant letting a Jedi walk away unharmed. 

“You may have derailed Ulldin’s resolve, _Sith_ ,” Zylixx spits the title out from between his teeth. “But your luck ends here. I’ll take you on myself.” 

Fallon’s saber ignites. “I had no intention of ducking a fight, _Jedi_.” 

The Jedi is all agility and speed, but he’s distracted, uneasy, letting his eyes dart for the person who _should_ be watching his back. He swings wildly, trying to hammer at Fallon’s defenses, but she fights almost like she’s proving a point. She moves backwards defensively and when the moment is right her eyes flash to Quinn’s and he shoots the Jedi in the back of the head. 

Fallon steps backwards once more to keep her boots out of the blood. “Excellent shot, Captain.” 

“My pleasure, my lord.” He gives a small, pleased bow. “But, if I may ask, why?”

“Humiliation.” She explains simply, jacket whipping behind her as she turns and starts back towards the airlock. Quinn nearly has to jog to keep up, careful to keep his boots clear of the pooling blood. There’s not much harm in leaving a trail, but there’s also no point to it. “The Jedi will find him--a knight of their order--and see that it wasn’t a _sith_ who killed him. It was his own lack of focus, his own arrogance.” Her smile is sharp and cruel. “Not just _anyone_ could have pulled it off, however. Regardless of how off-guard the Jedi was, that was a very clean shot. Well done.”

Baras calls as they return to the ship and tells Fallon that Nomen Kaar has called him out. A duel to the death on Hutta. Fallon listens with an unreadable expression as Baras praises her work and says that he is sending _her_ because he has long since outgrown his vendetta with Kaar. 

Fallon nods. “It would be a pleasure my lord.” She sets her palm over her breast and bows. The terminal dies and Fallon rolls her shoulders back and stretches for the ceiling. “Outgrown,” she huffs quietly and rolls her eyes. “Does he think I’m an idiot?” 

“No idea,” Vette says, rolling right side up. “You gonna do it?” 

“I’m not scared of the Jedi and I’m excited to meet Miss Willsaam in any case. I just don’t know why Baras attempts to so thinly disguise his motives.” She shrugs. “Captain, set a course for Hutta.” 

“At once, my lord.” He is almost glad to be out of the room. It seems more likely that Lord Baras _has_ outgrown his vendetta, having more important things to worry about, and that he is capitalizing on Nomen Kaar’s obsession. Sending Fallon would then be an _insult_ and through Kaar of balance. 

Tactically it’s sound. 

“Vette?” Fallon’s voice carries even as Quinn reaches his seat in the cockpit. 

“Yeah?” The causal tone grates on Quinn’s ears and as he plugs in the coordinates to Hutta he wonders how and _why_ Fallon tolerates it. 

“You’re to remain with the ship once we arrive. Hutta is unpleasant and someone will likely try and steal our suspension, punish such miscreants with _extreme_ prejudice.” Her voice grows louder as she moves closer to the cockpit entrance, walking towards her room. “And Vette?” 

“Yeeees?”

“Please make up a room, I intend for us to be leaving Hutta with company.” 


	10. Heir Apparent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallon recruits Jaesa Willsaam

As little as he liked Tatooine, _Hutta_ is possibly Quinn’s least favorite planet. Everything about it carries a stench. It’s not as hot as Tatooine, but the air compensates by being unbearably humid. It’s more openly criminal than Nar Shadda and without the charm of Nar Shadda’s more elegant establishments. He’s not certain if he’s stepped in waste or mud and he is certainly not about to check. 

Fallon moves as though she hasn’t noticed the smell, the squelching, or the criminal element. Her long coat billows behind her, her lightsabers proudly displayed on her belt. They take a speeder into the swamp, heading for the coordinates Kaar had sent to Baras. Quinn sits behind her, his hands on her hips so he doesn’t fall off the speeder but his posture stiff and formal. He is grateful, in some ways, for the thick black jacket that obscures her perfect shoulders from view. 

Nomen Kaar is indeed alone, though he seems more disappointed than surprised to see them instead of Baras. “Your presence tells me that my fellows Ulldin and Zylixx have failed. Pity.” Kaar exhales a long, slow breath and turns to face them. “I should have known your master couldn’t be trusted. As a man of my word, I’m here alone, as agreed upon. Your master shows himself a coward, sending you in his stead.”

“You sound upset, Master Kaar,” Fallon says. “Angry, even.” She makes no comment on Baras’s choices or bravery and Quinn isn’t sure what to think of that. She _ought_ to have defended the action, after all, sending her had been the _smart_ move and Baras was her master. But by the same token, the opinion of one Jedi Master wasn’t likely to concern her. 

“Your crusade has affected me, Sith, I’m not blind to that. But I’ve wandered the line between dark and light before. I walked among your master _and_ the sith. My connection to the light survived them. It will survive you.” 

“I’m curious.” She tilts her head, studying him. “What _is_ your history with Baras? You act like jilted lovers.” 

Once she says it, it sticks in Quinn’s thoughts. 

“There isn’t time for reminiscing. Whatever adulterated version your master told you will have to suffice.” 

“ _My Master_ ,” Fallon says with a chuckle. “Stars, you can’t even bring yourself to use his name, can you.”

Kaar’s nostrils flare. “Once you are out of the way Jaesa will provide the proof I need to open the council’s eyes and expose _Baras’s_ network of spies.” 

“Come, Kaar.” Fallon ignites her sabers and Quinn steps back, his blaster drawn. “Let us embrace death and end this.” 

Her fight with Rathari had been what Quinn had come to expect from saber fights. A lot of pacing and then a moment, the sabers clash and part and they begin again. Her fight with Kaar is different, more earnest. Fallon darts in and slides low, clicking one saber off as she slides. Kaar’s blade passes over her head but he catches her in the chin with his knee. They stay close, locked in combat, with very little of the acrobatics Quinn has come to count on. 

The first time she beats Kaar down, Fallon flings him across the room. Kaar screams and glows the same red-black that she does. 

“You’re digging your own grave, Jedi,” Fallon says with a warning tone. With a wave she pushes Quinn to the side, out of harm’s way as Nomen Kaar charges her. He beats at her guard and grabs her by the throat with the force, lifting her into the air. Quinn fires and then dodges as the bolt is reflected back, but the distraction is all Fallon needs to deliver a shattering kick to Kaar’s temple and force him to drop her. She wrenches his lightsaber away with a twist of the force around his wrist and Quinn can _hear_ the pop. 

In desperation, babbling like a madman about how she _must_ fall to him, Kaar grabs Quinn around the throat. The pain is intense, but short lived. There’s another pop as she shatters his other wrist and growls “ _don’t ignore me_ ,” before she hurls him backwards in the wall, pinning him weaponless in place. 

Out of combat, some of Kaar’s madness seems to pass. “My wound,” he grunts, “is mortal, Sith. At least I die knowing Jaesa will be safe.” 

“It’s never even entered your empty head that I don’t want her dead, has it?” Fallon clicks her tongue. “You are a short sighted fool, but at least a short sighted fool who won’t be a nuisance for much longer.” 

Quinn turns at the sound of boots, blaster ready, and relaxes slightly when he saw the Imperial Commandos. 

“My lord. Darth Baras sent us in case you . . .” the word _failed_ hangs over the room like the pall of death, but the commando thinks better of it. “Needed help. Clearly that’s not the case. He ordered Nomen Kaar be kept alive, may we stabilize him?” 

“No!” Kaar rails, still pinned in place with Fallon’s will. “Baras . . . be damned. I want to . . . die. Then Jaesa will be safe.” He slumps, unconscious at last.

Fallon nods to the commandos, ignoring Kaar’s thrashing. She drops him and watches with muted interest as the commandos carry Kaar’s unconscious body off into an adjacent chamber and Fallon turns to Quinn, still glowing from the fight. She licks a trace of blood off her lip where it was marring her lipstick. “Are you alright, Captain?”

“Fine, my lord.” 

“I’m relieved.” She picks up Nomen Kaar’s lightsaber and tucks it into her belt, a trophy, perhaps. From one of the pockets in her pants she produces a compact and Quinn watches, surprised, as she fixes her makeup and the traces of darkside corruption around her eyes start to fade. She carefully fixes her hair next, the strands that were loosened in the fight all tucked back into their proper place. 

It feels vain. Pointless. 

Quinn is silent about his opinion. 

#

When Kaar comes to, Fallon has him bound to a chair, the perfect bait. Quinn gets the notification that Jaesa has arrived and something warm passes over Fallon’s eyes. 

“Stand aside, Captain,” she says in a gentle tone. “Make room for our guest.” 

He nods and steps away, hand on his blaster just in case, though Fallon’s hands are nowhere _near_ her sabers. 

“Sith.” Jaesa is smaller in person, still confident but achingly _human_ and fragile. “I have come. Seems I was expected, your men outside let me pass. Release Master Kaar, your efforts to draw me out have been successful.” 

Before Fallon can speak, however, Kaar interrupts her. “Jaesa! No! I told you to stay put! How _dare_ you defy me!” 

And here, Quinn can see why Fallon adjusted her appearance. Between her and Nomen Kaar, raving while tied to a chair and dripping with darkside corruption, there is no doubt who the saner party is. She is the elegant, graceful victor and it appears as if she hadn’t broken a sweat. 

“Miss Wilsaam,” Fallon speaks with a voice like caff, dark and warm and addicting. She ignores Kaar’s ranting. “I have long waited for this moment. Welcome.” 

“Stupid child! All my sacrifices were for nothing! For all your power you have _understood_ nothing.” Kaar raves and for a moment.

Quinn considers hitting him to shut him up. 

“What have you . . . done to him, sith?” Jaesa actively recoils, horror and panic in her eyes. She covers her mouth with one hand, trying and failing to hide the disgust. “Has this . . . has this been inside him all along? No! It can’t be, no one can hide such darkness. Somehow you’ve turned him mad!”

Fallon shakes her head. “You don’t need me to tell you, Jaesa. Simply look at him,” she says. She gestures to the broken jedi with one hand, her movements measured and non-threatening. “Tell me what you see.” 

Jaesa Willsaam glows. Light spills from her hands and chest, flooding up around her. It reaches out and Quinn resists the urge to step _further_ from Nomen Kaar as the tendrils of Force Energy wrap around him, probing and poking. A thorough search. Jaesa recoils suddenly, staring down at her shoes. She describes what she sees in a dull, mute voice, blinking away tears. 

And _that’s_ when Fallon strikes. She steps forward. “Your order is _mired_ in lies, Jaesa.” Her voice is a soft as silk brushing against snow. 

Jaesa exhales. “All my life I put up with deceit and denial. I thought the Jedi would be different.” Her eyes stray to Nomen Kaar and then immediately back to her shoes. A small, lost girl instead of a woman in her twenties. When she looks up, there is determination in her eyes. “You’ve exposed Master Kaar for what he is. It’s _your_ power that reveals a person’s true nature. The fear you inspire forces truth to the surface. I want that.” 

“Then you will be my apprentice. I will teach you that and more,” Fallon says, she extends her hand and beckons Jaesa into her with two fingers, enfolding her into a hug. The Jedi are touch-starved and Jaesa freezes in panic and then folds, her hands shaking and then gripping at Fallon’s coat as though it were her mother’s skirts. She trembles and Fallon sets her palm against the back of her head, tall and scarlet and _gentle_. “I will show you the power of the Dark Side,” Fallon promises softly, her cheek against Jaesa’s temple.

“I am honored,” Jaesa exhales. “ _My lord_.” 

The embrace ends, though their hands stay touching. Jaesa swallows hard. “What do you wish of me? What should be done with Master Kaar?” 

“Master Kaar will be taken to Darth Baras.” Fallon says with a nod. She takes Nomen Kaar’s lighsaber off her belt and presses it into Jaesa’s hands, a gift. “And he is no longer our concern. Come, Jaesa, let’s return to our ship and get you settled.” She looks at Quinn and smiles, sharp and predatory. “Jaesa, this is Captain Malavai Quinn, a trusted asset.” 

Quinn gives her a small bow. “My lord.” 

#

It worries him all the way back to the ship and through take off as Vette helps Jaesa settle in. Fallon has achieved more than Baras could have expected, but in doing so, she has shown that she is stronger than him. More clever in the moment. Her recruitment, rather than destruction, of Jaesa Willsaam was the final clincher. Baras does not suffer threats idly, and now Fallon has become one. 

Quinn just hope her usefulness continues to outweigh the dangers. 

Baras calls that evening, almost giddy over her victory and the knowledge that Nomen Kaar will be heading towards him. He makes Fallon a lord then and there and releases them for a short time, to give her a chance to enjoy the victory. 

Vette and Jaesa head off to finish getting Jaesa situated and Quinn steps forward to offer his congratulations with a low bow. 

“I wonder, my lord, what are your plans now?” 

Lord Fallon smiles. “They haven’t changed, Quinn, we will crush the Empire’s enemies and bring the Republic to its knees.” 

Quinn wants to grab her, crush her mouth to his. He does not. “I hope to be there when you deal the final blow, my lord.” 

“I intend for you to be, Captain.” 


	11. Home of Her Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallon and the crew settle into Dromund Kaas

The first thing Fallon does when released for a short period of time is get an apartment on Dromund Kaas. She uses her new stipend and some savings and selects a beautiful view in Kaas City. Vette calls it a stronghold and the name sticks. _Apartment_ in Quinn’s mind is limited to a single level and Fallon’s new home is two floors, garage and balcony, with a sprawling floor plan on each. There are three bedrooms upstairs and Fallon selects the middle one for herself, Vette to her right and Jaesa to her left. 

Quinn stares out one of the large windows, watching the rain beat down on the city below. The city has changed since his boyhood, but the rain is a comfort. It’s strange being back. He got leave briefly to attend his father’s funeral, but beyond that one sad duty, he hasn’t been in Kaas City since Druckenwell. 

_This_ , he thinks _, is the seat of what I’ve been fighting for_. 

Movers arrive with the pieces of furniture both Jaesa and Vette have purchased. They stuck to the budget Fallon set, but Quinn watches the intricately designed bedposts heading into Jaesa’s room and wonders how _closely_ they adhered. While the movers respond to the demands of both girls as they decorate with the fervor of two people being given their own space for the first time, Fallon settles on her living room couch and gestures to Quinn that he’s welcome to sit. 

He does, settling stiffly into the seat beside her the bowl of apnacks between them on the table and a cup off caff in front of her. “My lord?” 

“There is a room downstairs if you would like,” she says. 

He blanks for a moment. 

“You are assigned a post on my ship,” Fallon continues unabated. “But now that I’m a lord of the sith, I may not always be traveling. Hence the,” her lips pull up to a small smile, “ _stronghold_. You’re welcome to stay wherever you choose, of course, but convenience would suggest that here is easiest.” 

“Yes, my lord.” The temptation is great and he lets himself slip, just a little, taken off-guard by a casual conversation in a casual setting for the first time in . . . years. “Have you decided then where I fit in, tool or asset?” 

Fallon laughs, a rich, warm sound. She shakes her head and smiles at him, yellow eyes bright. “Weren’t you listening when I brought Jaesa into the fold, Quinn? You are an _asset_ , trusted and cared for.”

“I am overwhelmed, my lord.” He inclines his head. “I would be honored.” 

#

Quinn is _mostly_ unsure of what to do in an environment as relaxed as Fallon’s stronghold. He reads reports by the window, listening to the soothing pattern of the rain and watching from the corner of his eye as Vette tinkers and Fallon combs her fingers through Jaesa’s hair. The seduction of the darkside, Fallon had explained, must be handled delicately in a creature like Jaesa. She is affection starved and bloodthirsty, and Fallon takes pride in showing Jaesa the gentle art of using those traits to her benefit. 

She is _lavish_ with her affections and in return Jaesa’s loyalty appears unwavering. During her time on Alderaan, it’s clear that Jaesa was ignored unless she was useful (her youth and beauty levered as a chance for her parents to rise from servitude). Within the jedi, affection was forbidden. Jaesa turns into Fallon’s palms and nearly weeps with joy when Fallon combs her hair or helps with her makeup. Fallon asks for nothing in return for her love, and thus, Jaesa offers everything she has. 

Fallon is open with her advice but never judgemental, and so Jaesa comes to her with every conceivable question (more than once Quinn enters a room and leaves again _immediately_ as Fallon explains a new masturbatory technique Jaesa has heard of and offers a plethora of new ways to _enhance_ an experience). There are no secrets, as far as Quinn can tell, no taboos. In a few years, it likely won’t _occur_ to Jaesa to plot against her master. 

But the leash is there, and when Fallon _is_ stern, Jaesa heeds every irritated syllable with a devotion that would make other sith sob. 

It is mesmerizing, and moreover, Quinn cannot tell if it is calculated or if it is simply in Fallon’s nature. 

It _must_ be calculated.

And yet. It is similar enough to the affection she displays towards Vette that Quinn has his doubts. If there is a _benefit_ to the twi’lek beyond the . . . _pleasure of her company_ (an unpleasant thing) he hasn’t seen it. But Lord Fallon is indulgent and playful. She takes delight in Vette’s stories and escapades, in helping with her makeup. 

Perhaps it is genuine. 

#

“Sure is _Broysc_ out there,” Vette says, flopping into the chair across from him and grinning. “It’s just such a _Broysc_ day.” 

Quinn stared at her. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“It’s such a _Broysc_ day,” Vette repeats, grinning at him. “A perfect day for telling me exactly why you hate that Moff Guy.” 

“Go away.” 

“Nah.” 

“I’m _working_ ,” Quinn explains, stretching the word as though explaining it to a simpleton. 

“Broysc,” Vette sets her elbows on the table. He considers the drawbacks to smacking her and decides there are _far_ too many to make it worth the brief satisfaction. 

He settles for ignoring her, which works for the most part. Right up until Vette gets out of her chair to leave and when he lets his guard down appears behind him and whispers _“Broysc_ ,” in the same tone that some people say “moist.” 

This continues for nearly two weeks. Vette just . . . randomly drops Broysc’s name into conversation or sends him a message with nothing else. At length, and thoroughly embarrassed that it’s come to this point, Quinn resolves to speak with Lord Fallon. 

He catches her alone at night, listening to her favorite Opera ( _Jen Saarajikut,_ Hidden Truths) and waits to be acknowledged. Fallon turns the music down, but not off, with a wave of her hand. “Quinn?”

“My Lord,” he gave a small bow to apologize for the interruption. “May I ask you to have a word with Vette and ask her not to disturb me when I’m working?” 

“Exactly _how_ is she disturbing you?” Fallon asks and he’s not sure what to make of the mild amusement in her eyes. 

“She’s not wired for military precision,” he says immediately, “and there’s no filter on that twi’lek mouth.” 

Fallon raises her brow curiously. 

“When I was tracking down Agent Voloren, she must have overheard me refer to Moff Broysc and now she’s taken to persistently pestering me about him.” He huffs, irritated all over again. “She keeps slipping his name nonsensically into conversations just to annoy me. Says she won’t stop until I tell her why I hate the man.” 

Fallon’s expression, while beautiful in the dim light, is not particularly comforting. She looks almost as though she is trying not to laugh, which wasn’t what he was going for. She sighs and shakes her head. “Vette’s relentless. Once she gloms onto something, she doesn’t let go. Best if you just tell her the story.” 

“It’s neither _appropriate_ nor in the Empire’s best interests to discuss the matter with non-military personnel.” And he doesn’t want to give her the _satisfaction_. That’s a lot of it. Not that he’ll _say_ it. “Besides, knowing her, the details of Broysc’s collapse at Druckenwell and his and my subsequent conflict would only give her _more_ fodder.”

Fallon nods at that. “I’ll talk to her, she’ll stop bothering you.” 

“Thank you, my lord. I was hoping you’d say that. I apologize for interrupting your evening.” 

“Not at all. You may join me, if you’d like, we’re only on the second movement. It lacks the punch when it’s only the audio, but allows me to read.” 

“I would enjoy that, My Lord.” Quinn says despite himself. He settles in a seat across from her as Fallon dims the light and turns the volume up with a small wave. The piece is in Sith, and he can’t make out a word of it, but it’s beautiful. 

And Fallon, lying on the couch with her eyes closed and her expression placid and relaxed, is truly stunning. “The story is one of my favorites,” she says without opening her eyes. “Darth Moxzae, a formidable lord of the Sith --that’s her there, the alto-- has met a young Nautolan Jedi Knight by the name of Shot Kunne --the watery soprano-- and decides she must possess her.” Quinn watches Fallon’s lips twitch. “Moxzae is passionate and forceful, Shot Kunne is highly disciplined, but young and uncertain.” 

“A nautolan?” he asks for clarification. 

“Oh yes, it caused quite a stir.” She says. “The opera itself is fairly new, only about ten years old, and the part was written for a Nautolan. Initially they attempted to cast a human in the role and alter her appearance with costuming, but human vocal ranges are _limited_ and the part was given to the woman it was written for.” 

“The singer now?” 

“Soh Ondumt, a slave of one of Darth Malgus’s apprentices.” Fallon’s nostrils flare with irritation.

“You disapprove, my lord?” 

“A long story, Captain,” she ends the conversation with four simple words. “Simply enjoy the piece.”

_Vette_ , he thinks, _was given to her as a slave_. 


	12. The First Steps Towards War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallon and her crew are given their targets.

It is no secret that Quinn hates the Treaty of Coruscant. He schools his features to neutral as Fallon returns from speaking with her liege and summons him, Jaesa and Vette to the stronghold lounge to deliver Darth Baras’s edict that they would hunt down and eliminate not _only_ General Gonn but also the traitors working alongside him. Her eyes linger on Quinn’s for a moment and then she nods to Jaesa and Vette, dismissing them to pack.

“Excited, Captain?” She asks, slowing her pace to allow him to fall into step beside her as she walks towards her bedroom to grab the few things she wants that she doesn’t keep aboard _the Fury_. “Baras tasks us with the first step to war.”

“I am, my lord.” Quinn nods, never more certain that his loyalty to Baras is well-placed. Darth Baras will crush the Republic and carry the Empire to greatness. 

And if they’re at war, then Fallon remains a greater tool than a threat. 

And that, if he dares to admit it to himself, is a weight off his mind. 

#

Quinn is chosen to accompany her off _the Fury_ and into Nar Shadda itself to find the first victim of Darth Vengean’s plot to maneuver the galaxy into war. He follows Lord Fallon willingly into the glittering Nar Shaddan streets, keeping easy pace with her as she navigates the corruption and the gang territories to get where they need to go.

They catch General Gonn in the middle of negotiations with a Chiss--Fawste--who has helped some Jedi Knight land discreetly on Hoth. Quinn stands stiffly, his blaster in his hand but not yet pointed, waiting for the order to kill them all. In contrast, Lord Fallon leans against the wall, watching with bemused eyes, content to wait until they notice her or the opportunity to introduce herself arises. 

“You’re a valuable asset to the Republic, Fawste,” General Gonn says pride filling his words. “Someday, the rest of the Chiss will follow your lead.” 

“That seems _profoundly_ unlikely,” Fallon says. Her eyes glow with approval as she straightens. “ _Excellent_ work, Fawste, leading me to the General.” 

“I--uh--” Fawste swallows and licks his lips nervously. He takes a small step back and his eyes fix on Quinn and then, more importantly, Quinn’s blaster. 

“Men! We’ve got trouble,” an armed woman says, moving forward with her gun raised. “Surround the general.”

Quinn aims at her throat.

“What’s this Fawste?” General Gonn pulls his gun and levels it at Fallon’s face. Quinn tenses, but General Gonn’s eyes and attention are fixed on Fawste. “Have you double crossed me?” 

“I--No! No General, I--” 

“Oh, give it up Fawste.” Fallon chuckles. “The General’s not an idiot.” 

“No! It’s a lie, General, I swear.” Fawste is panicked, looking around, almost _pleading_. Pathetic. 

“I believe you.” Gonn’s eyes move back to Fallon and she offers a coquettish chuckle, batting her long eyelashes and shrugging playfully in response.

Quinn fights the urge to snort with amusement. She is never _coquettish_ unless she is actively mocking someone. Teasing at, as she said once, the patriarchal military complex that paints women as victims to be protected and femininity as profoundly unthreatening. 

Her assessment, at the time, had been something of an annoyance. She wasn’t wrong, however, and Quinn has come to terms with it. 

“Sith are notorious liars. Our bond is not broken. I think I can guess who you are, Sith. For all of Darth Baras’s covert manipulations, you have banged around the galaxy loudly enough. Now Baras has found me. I’ll have to be more careful moving forward.”

“Very little hides from me, General,” Fallon says, the playfulness dying quickly.

“I was successful once, I’ll be successful again.” 

“Sith. . .” Fawste speaks up from the background. “You’re . . . are you really Darth Baras’s apprentice?” 

“Yes. _However_ ,” she corrects. “I am a Lord in my own right now, though still in his service.” 

“We’ve heard of you. This, uh, this isn’t what it seems.”

“Oh really?” She huffs a laugh. “What is it then, I’m all ears.” 

“We were--” Fawste scrambles for something that she might believe. “We uh, cooperated with General Gonn to learn, uh, what he was up to. So at the right time we could, uh, betray him.” 

It’s not wildly convincing, but it incenses the General, possibly because it proves that the Chiss knows who will come out ahead in this fight. And it’s _not_ General Gonn. 

“Nicely played, Fawste,” Gonn snarls. “You’re a real lowlife. When this is over, so is our alliance.” 

“And the Empire will welcome you with open arms,” Fallon says. 

“He’s about to find himself all alo--” the General’s threat is cut short into a gurgle and then a snap as Fallon reaches out and succinctly snaps his neck. Quinn fires into his supporters, taking them down before Fallon needs to draw her lightsaber. He gives her a small nod in exchange for her approval and they both turn to look at Fawste. 

“You . . .you killed them all,” he whispers, terrified. 

Fallon nods, thoroughly unimpressed. 

“We--Mercy, please. My men and I, we will rededicate ourselves to the empire.” 

“Tell me about this Jedi you landed on Hoth,” Fallon tilts her head, asking a question instead of deciding one way or another. She rests her right hand on her hip, where she can grab her saber easily. 

“I--I helped him land on Hoth undetected. I believe he’s searching for something in the starship graveyard but _that’s all I know I swear_.” 

“You will return to Darth Baras and tell him _everything_ ,” Fallon says. As Fawste starts to rush past, she stops him, one gloved hand settling on his chest. “And, Fawste, don’t think I won’t know if you don’t.” She pats his cheek. “Hurry along.” 

#

They return to Dromund Kaas shortly thereafter and Fallon gives Jaesa leave to go _hunting_ on the grounds that she doesn’t drag anything home with her and Vette takes the afternoon to go home and nap. Quinn, faithful as ever, follows Fallon to Baras’s sanctum. 

She plays the supplicant before Darth Vengean, submissive but not weak-willed, accepting Baras’s praise with humble grace. It is a mask, and one Quinn can see through. But it’s not there for _him_. She gives Baras her full attention, her perfect mask in place as he receives the order for Plan Zero from Darth Vengean. 

He remembers wearing that mask under different circumstances. The careful expression of a subordinate trying not to give away what they think of an order, whether it’s good or bad. 

“Plan Zero is the systematic elimination of the Republic’s top military leaders. A preemptive strike to leave our enemies headless.” 

Quinn feels a stirring of excitement in his chest. _This_ is what he’s been waiting for. The war is almost upon them and from where he stands, just behind Lord Fallon in front of Lord Baras, victory feels nearly assured. 

They are dismissed to _The Fury_ immediately, there is no time to waste. He’s been tracking the targets for years. 

When they’re outside the sanctum, Fallon produces her holocom. “Vette,” she says sweetly. “Return the _The Fury_ , we have a job.” 

“Yes’m,” Vette says without argument.

She catches Jaesa by holo at the Cantina and delivers the same news. Jaesa sighs, nearly put upon. “Now now, it’s time to feed other appetites, my darling,” Fallon soothes and Jaesa grins. 

“Of course, my master.” 

Fallon tucks her comm away and looks to Quinn. “You feel ready to bubble over, _Captain_.” Her smile is sharp enough to cut him. “It’s a marvelous look on you.” 

There’s a hunger in her eyes and he feels blood climbing treacherously towards his cheeks. He swallows down a responsive flirtation: _Better than the blush on Tattoine,_ _my lord?_ and clears his throat instead. 

#

Aboard the _Fury_ , Quinn listens at attention as Baras sends them to Taris to hunt down the Republic’s four top strategists. “It will be done, my lord,” Fallon says. She looks to Quinn and gives a short nod. He hurries to the cockpit to input the coordinates. 

“Taris, huh?” Vette sighs, he can hear her as he passes. “We never go anywhere _nice_.” 

Fallon’s chuckle follows him.

Broysc, unfortunately, is never far from Quinn’s thoughts and the flight to Taris, the reminder that _soon_ they will be at war again, gives him time to simmer about it. Quinn barely notices he’s doing it until he hears the crinkle of leather and looks up to find Lord Fallon leaning against the wall in the cockpit sipping her caff. 

She says nothing, watching out the front window with a peaceably expression. Enjoying the view and the quiet. 

“My lord,” he says, breaking the silence between them. “May I seek your advice?” 

“Of course,” She says, lowering her cup and turning her attention to him. “What’s the trouble?” 

“As a military man, above all else, I value discipline, the chain of command and uncompromising dedication to serving the Empire’s interests.” He waits for her to nod before he continues. “But there’s a built-in dilemma. When my instincts tell me that a superior is jeopardizing the Empire, it makes my path less clear.” 

Fallon’s mouth moves to a small, knowing smile. “That’s the problem with the Military. No matter the rank, no one should be above reproach.” She raises her brow. “So, is it my leadership or Broysc’s that has you concerned?” 

He feels a small blush climb up his cheeks. “Broysc’s. I apologize for giving any other impression.” He tilts his head back against the seat, a rare breach of his discipline. “It’s been a difficult lesson to learn. But it’s . . . tricky. The criteria to criticize a superior must never be softened.” He frowns and looks out towards the stars, nose wrinkling with disgust. “I stood by as Moff Broysc’s random whims compromised countless missions. It is a mistake I _refuse_ to repeat. Defying him ruined my career, but I should have done it sooner.” 

“True,” Fallon said. “But look at it another way. His failings have become your strengths. You are _exacting_ and _tenacious_ , more disciplined and driven than anyone I’ve met. You should almost thank him.” 

Quinn blinks and looks up at her. The compliment having taken him entirely by surprise. There wasn’t the trace of a flirtation in it. Her expression is neither mocking nor condescending. She isn’t even looking at him, her attention focused once more on the stars. “That is a startling perspective, my lord.” He forces his eyes back to the stars, and they seem to burn half as bright as she does. “Your example and guidance give me clarity. Thank you. I am more focused now.” 

“I have no complaints about either your thoroughness or commitment.” Fallon sets her hand on his shoulder as she turns to leave, nothing more than a brush of her long fingers over his jacket but it feels electric. 

“I’ll never give you any reason to, My Lord,” he says it urgently, like it’s the most important thing he’s ever said. 

“I know, Quinn. It’s why I’ve come to rely on you.” 

He swallows and looks at the galaxy map when she leaves, praying silently that he never has cause to betray that trust. 


	13. Taris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallon, with Quinn at her side, decimates The War Trust on Taris and picks up a new companion. *unenthusiastic finger waving from Quinn*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit this chapter is longer than everything else so far.

As little as he liked Hutta, _Taris_ is possibly Quinn’s least favorite planet. It was probably beautiful once, but then Darth Malak had broken it open like an egg, released the rakghoul virus and turned thAs little as he liked Hutta, _Taris_ is possibly Quinn’s least favorite planet. It was probably beautiful once, but then Darth Malak had broken it open like an egg, released the rakghoul virus and turned the whole planet into one toxic disaster. At least Hutta’s swamps weren’t actually toxic. And the criminals on Nar Shadda wouldn’t _literally_ eat anyone alive (generally speaking) unlike the Rakghouls. 

Speaking of, then there were the Rakghouls. Fallon couldn’t contract the virus, but he certainly could.

That seems to be the dilemma lingering on Fallon’s mind as _The Fury_ docks with Taris’s orbital station. At length, however, she looks at Quinn. “Captain, unpleasant as it is, I want you down there with me. However, in light of your species, you’re going to need the Rakghoul vaccine. I understand the side-effects can be unpleasant.” Her expression narrows. “The irritability in particular is why I feel you’re better suited to this than Jaesa.” She keeps her voice low. “I do not doubt her abilities or her loyalty, but the path down the darkside is one that must be measured, she needs to _delight_ in her fury, not succumb to the equivalent of an itch.”

Quinn nods. “I will serve faithfully.” 

“Besides, I think you’ll enjoy ‘putting the boot in’ on the War Trust more than even she would. Jaesa enjoys _bloodshed_ but for you this is a chance to serve the Empire.”

“I appreciate it, my lord.” 

The sleeves of his jacket don’t really roll up and so Quinn is forced to undo the front and pull it down over his shoulder that way. Fallon watches with muted interest as the Imperial Medic pushes his undershirt up over the shoulder and injects a clear serum into his bicep that _stings_ the minute it meets Quinn’s skin. The only emotion Quinn shows, however, is a brief wrinkling of his nose in displeasure. Fallon chuckles. 

Moff Hurdenn is a small, mousy man with an equally small mustache and he is accompanied by a huge brute of a lieutenant. The Lieutenant is taller than Fallon (no mean feat) and twice as broad. His arms drop casually to his sides as Quinn and Fallon enter and he steps away from the holographic map. “Moff Hurdenn,” he says without the smallest _hint_ of a salute. The accent places him in Imperial Space but not from Dromund Kaas. Ziost, perhaps? Red Sith in his heritage would explain the size. “The Sith is here.” 

“What’s that Lieutenant?” Moff Hurdenn looks up from his device. “Oh, I didn’t see you come in.” He gives a poor bow, but a bow, to Fallon. “You must be the Sith Darth Baras sent. Welcome to Taris.”

“Indeed.” Fallon’s tone is polite, but not friendly. “My mission is of the utmost importance however, so I require all the information you have _immediately_.” 

“Yes, right. As I _told_ Darth Baras, I have long sought an opportunity to assist him and am eager to contribute however I am able.” 

“I _doubt_ she came all this way to be fawned on,” the lieutenant interrupts. Quinn isn’t certain what to make of that. It’s _blatantly_ disrespectful but also _very true_ and the Moff’s pandering is . . . irritating. 

Disconcertingly, Fallon cracks a small smile. 

“Of course,” the Moff says, a _further_ troubling development. “May I Introduce Lieutenant Pierce, on loan from our notorious Black Ops division. I give you exclusive reign of him while you’re on Taris, which I trust will accommodate your every need.”

_Black Ops_ , well, that explains a few things. 

Fallon turns her sharp yellow eyes onto Pierce and smiles, showing just a hint of tooth. “Lieutenant, your service to me begins immediately.” 

Pierce, to Quinn’s muted dismay, returns the smile with one of his own. “Good.” 

The Moff clears his throat, standing between giants. “Well, I leave you two to your mission, then. As you proceed, if I can offer any further aid, do not hesitate to contact me.” 

Pierce waits until the Moff is out of the room before speaking, meeting Fallon’s eyes with a sureness that most men fail to possess. Quinn doesn’t like it. He’s not fond of most of Pierce’s demeanor and the way he and the Moff behaved was strange. Probably, Pierce is blackmailing his superior. 

However, complaints about decorum aside, Pierce has done his homework, revealing to Fallon that he’d caught a Republic spy and “leaned on him, hard” to get the location for supply routes to one of the War Trust Generals. Fallon listens as Pierce lays out a strategy for triangulating the General’s location, and lifts her brow as he complains that The Moff can’t spare the manpower. 

Her eyes move to Quinn, just for a moment, and he meets her gaze, giving the smallest nod on impulse. 

“The Caravans aren’t an issue, Lieutenant. Captain Quinn and I can handle them ourselves.” 

“Guess I’m running the tech then,” Pierce looks _almost_ disappointed about it. “Here are the coordinates, caravans run daily, but they vary the timing. I’m sure you’ll come upon them eventually. Hit enough and snag the transponders, I’ll figure out where they’re going. Should zero in on General Frellka.” 

“Excellent. I will be in contact.” 

“Good. Glad to be moving on this, M’Lord. It’s been a long time coming.” 

#

He can feel the vaccine’s effects and resists the urge to rub at his biceps when Fallon is _looking_ at him by virtue of being career military. It would be easier if it _hurt_ but it didn’t. It just itched. 

And they are close to a bog and surrounded by thick foliage and he can feel the start of a headache and he’s inclined to blame it on Lieutenant Pierce simply because that’s easiest.

Fallon submits the transponder frequencies and waits a few moments while Pierce triangulates their destination. She watches the holo as he works, studying his expressions in miniature and the way he works. Once she has the coordinates, they learn that the Empire had kicked the pubs out of the tunnels only a few weeks prior, there must be _something_ of interest down there for the Republic to have expended the effort to take it back. 

Fallon clicks off the holo and tucks it away. “How are you feeling, Captain?”

“Itchy, my lord,” Quinn answers. She gives him a small smile and he clears his throat to answer properly. “Enthused to take down a quarter of the War Trust.” 

The cave is full of troops and miners. Fallon’s eyes brighten and red-black miasma swirls around her hands and ankles like smoke. She leaps and the ground quakes where she lands in the middle of a small patrol, knocking the soldiers onto their knees before she parts their heads from their necks with elegant strokes, the stink of burned flesh growing in the contained space. 

She corners the mining foreman, chucking the body of a dead guard towards him to herd him back against the wall. 

“Whoa, Whoa, Whoa!” The foreman shouts, moving backwards until he bumps into the wall. “You got all the soldiers, we’re just miners, _contracted_ miners at that.” 

Fallon, still glowing with bloodlust, looks profoundly unmoved. “Where’s General Frellka?”

“He’s the overseer, but he ain’t exactly _hands on_ ,” the Foreman explains, as far back against the wall as he can ben. “Hasn’t been by in weeks. You gonna kill him?”

“Yes.” Fallon’s smile is wolfish. “Do you have a problem with that?” The tendrils of power, red and black, curl around her wrists and twine up her arms. 

The Foreman considers, and then shakes his head. “Not . . .not _really_ ,” he says with a nervous laugh. “Every job ends at some point and the Republic don’t pay me enough to get in your way, _believe me_.” He swallows and licks his lips and looks down and away. “If--If I hit the silent alarm, Frellka’ll come with his personal guard. If that’s what you really want, I can bring him here.” 

Fallon drops the point of her saber, unigniting the second and hooking it back onto her belt. “Do it.” 

The Foreman pushes a button and exhales. “There, it’s done. Can we go?” 

Fallon nods and then jams her lightsaber through him, burning away the scream before it can start. “The rest of you can leave.” She clicks the beam off so the body simply falls as she takes a step backwards to keep it from scuffing her boots.

The miners flee in a panic and Quinn strides towards her. A single civilian, braver than she was bright, screams and starts to rush him with a shovel. He plants a blaster bolt between her breasts before holstering his weapon and continuing to close the distance between himself and Fallon. 

Fallon leans against a barrel and offers his a warm smile, the rust in her eyes fading until they are brilliant orange once more. “So, did you listen to _Wokun_ as I suggested, Captain?” 

“I did,” he folds his hands behind his back, standing at parade rest. “Regrettably, I don’t have a good grasp of Ancient Sith.” 

She chuckles. “It’s actually a modernization of Ancient Sith, a revival of the tongue.” The way she says _revival of the tongue_ stirs a small longing in his chest. “The plot itself is convoluted, but I can offer a summation if you’d like and, Quinn?”

“My Lord?” 

“Pretend to be nonchalant. We’re waiting for a General.” 

He smiles despite himself and leans against the barrels at her side. “Of course, My lord. Now, about that second movement, exactly _what_ was going on?” 

Fallon’s eyes brighten as she begins to explain. _Wokun_ , she says, translates loosely to _Only One_ and the opera follows a class of prospective apprentices vying for the attention of Sith. Quinn retains the plot, but none of the details. His eyes dip to her full mouth, the perfectly painted lips and the sharp spurs of bone that just from her chin, and then up to the gold around her eyes. 

Fallon’s lips pull to a smirk and he knows she’s noticed. But she doesn’t seem displeased. 

“Is it _common_ within the Sith Academy for entire clusters of students to be slaughtered?” he asks. 

“No. Though it does happen, and it’s more common on Korriban than on Dromund Kaas.” 

“Did you study at Korriban?” 

“For the end of my tutelage. I had been at Dromund Kaas, studying to serve under my mother. Her status afforded me the chance to enter late and hone my abilities more firmly at home.” Fallon’s smile turns nearly wistful. “I impressed one of the overseers and was brought to Korriban to compete for a place under Lord Baras’s command.” 

“I didn’t realize you were from Dromund Kaas, my lord.” Quinn lets himself be bold. “Is that the reason for your fondness for Apnacks?” 

“My family owned an orchard and a modest vineyard, Quinn. There’s nothing in the galaxy as sweet as a fresh plucked apnack and a sip of Kaasian wine.” 

They are interrupted before he can agree. 

General Frellka is an older man and his soldiers are enthusiastic. Fallon spares him a small nod as she stalks over to him. “You show uncharacteristic mercy Sith, letting Varl’s crew live. Even if you did murder him.” Frellka makes no move to lower the weapon he has pointed at her face. “I am General Elaxis Frellka of the Republic Strategic High Command. Your incursion here is a violation of the--” 

“Yes,” Fallon says, interrupting what was promising to be a _speech_ and affecting near-boredom. “I know who you are. That’s why I’m _here_.” 

“Be careful what you wish for, Sith.” Frellka holds his chin up high. “It’s unfortunate that you’ve discovered our plans, but no matter. The wheels are already in motion. Our new technology will deliver arms superiority to The Republic and I’m ready to give my life to defend this installation.” 

Fallon’s eyes narrow. “What _exactly_ are you talking about, General?” 

Frellka smiles coldly. “You don’t know? Oh, this is too rich. Men! This Sith must not be allowed to reveal our operation, Attack to--” 

Quinn fires, catching the man to Frellka’s left in the throat as Fallon crushes Frellka’s trachea from a distance. They dispatch the rest of his contingent of men and Fallon kneels to begin rifling through the General’s pockets, making a small, pleased noise as she pulls out his keycard and walks to the mining computer to access the mainframe. He reads over her shoulder about _Project Siantide_ , the Republic’s plan for better fuel cells using a material mined on Taris. 

More importantly, the mainframe gives the location of General Minst. Fallon triggers the mine’s self-destruct mechanism and smiles to Quinn as she bolts for the entrance. Outside she rolls her neck and produces her holocom. 

Her eyes narrow as Lieutenant Pierce updates her on the situation, that Moff Hurdenn is killing their chances of actually dealing with General Durant’s battalion. She holds her chin up. “Summon the Moff,” she growls. “I will address _him_.” 

Moff Hurdenn is too busy preening to notice Fallon’s displeasure, and that’s something of a feat. She seethes silently, her nostrils flared and her yellow eyes narrowed and tinged with copper. 

She is _breathtakingly beautiful_ and Quinn is _intensely grateful_ that her expression is not directed at him. 

For a number of reasons. 

He isn’t sure if he should say something, however, when she snaps at the Moff and _orders_ him to withdraw his troops and give Pierce’s Black Ops squad the chance to scour for Durant’s headquarters. The Moff apologizes and complies. Fallon clicks her holocom off and Quinn _wants_ to comment that it was Hurdenn’s call, not hers and _certainly_ not _Pierce’s_. 

He holds his tongue.

#

At first, Minst appears to be a somewhat panicked Rhodian, but Fallon raises one skeptical brow. She slaughters his guards effectively and turns towards him, offering an unimpressed shake of her head. “Minst” stammers and trips over himself, Quinn almost laughs, he’s never heard a rhodian trip over their strange, musical tongue before. 

“ _I--uh--I can’t do this. I’m not General Minst, I’m just a grunt. I’m not going to die for this_.” In exchange for the _hope_ of his life, Minst’s imposter offers Minst’s location (the fallout shelter) and reveals that the reactor is set to explode in five minutes, taking the warning system off of mute. Fallon takes the code to open the shelter and advises the rhodian to _run_. 

She remains calm as she inputs the code, a rock against the panic in Quinn’s chest because he can think his way out of a _lot_ of situations but a reactor explosion isn’t really one of them. 

Moreover, the imminent threat of death brings to mind the real threat of ending the time he spends with _her_. She will die. The Empire will suffer. He doesn’t want to lose her. 

He doesn’t want to be vaporized himself, truth be told, but that feels frustratingly secondary in the immediate. 

Quinn notices the republic commandos as the countdown reaches thirty seconds. He turns and fires, nine shots, three corpses. 

“Quinn?” She asks. 

“The immediate threat has been quelled, my lord,” he holsters his blaster and tries to keep his voice calm. “However, this place will explode in exactly ten seconds . . . now.” 

“The reactor core will self-destruct in ten seconds,” the system confirms. 

“Well,” Fallon keeps typing. “If there’s anything you want to say, I suggest saying it now.” 

“I believe you know how I feel about you, my lord,” Quinn gives a small bow.

Fallon turns to look at him opening her mouth with what appears to be an admonishment as the door opens. “Inside. Now,” she snaps instead. 

The door slams closed behind them and an angry Rhodian (who does, in fact, look like the imposter they’d confronted) accuses Fallon of recklessness. 

She stares at him, almost as if she's struggling to comprehend his presence. The tendrils of darkside energy curl over her shoulders like a lover’s hands. She blinks as Minst talks about how he should have sacrificed his _advisor_ instead and she shakes her head in slow disbelief as she ignites her lightsaber. She sighs as Minst babbles about how the Empire will never duplicate _Project Siantide_ and cuts both him and his advisor down in a pair of beautiful, fluid movements. She turns and studies Quinn, forcing him to consider what he said as she lets her eyes devour him and the tip of her tongue wets her lips. 

They are _achingly_ alone. 

His breath catches. Fallon is still glowing with power, huge and inspiring and deadly. She considers him without reservation and he _wants_ her to act. Wants to pin or be pinned and let himself drown in relief that they are alive and that she exists. 

Her holocom buzzes and Fallon produces it, her expression swings back to composed professionalism. Quinn forces himself to be _relieved_ , rather than _disappointed._

“Pierce here.” 

“Report, Lieutenant.” 

“Tracked General Durant’s battalion, led my black ops troopers on a recon run. Found Durant’s hideout. He’s got a full battalion guarding the compound. They’re establishing a perimeter of electronic defenses around the General.”

“Send me the coordinates. I’m on my way.” 

“Sent. My black ops troopers and I were able to slip past the perimeter before they got the systems online, but we were spotted. We’re taking fire. Outnumbered. Should be able to hold them off long enough for you to get through but that’s it.” 

“I’ll be there promptly.” 

“Well, we’re not going anywhere. Knock out those defense systems. We’ll hold position for you. Or worst case, our bodies will slow down their charge.” Pierce draws himself up and performs the first salute Quinn has seen him offer. It’s _flawless_ and that makes its lack earlier all the more suspicious. “Proud to have served, My lord. Pierce out.” 

She gives Quinn a nod to open the blast doors. Whatever they might have said or done, the moment is past. 

And he tries _very hard_ to be relieved about that. 

Still holding her holocom, Fallon conjures Jaesa. Her smile grows. “Jaesa, get the Rakghoul vaccine and get to the surface immediately. Meet Quinn and I at these coordinates.”

“Yes, master.” 

“Will she be in time, My Lord?” 

“We will clear a path for her, Quinn.”

#

Jaesa meets them at the coordinates to Durant’s compound, following the trail of bodies Fallon has left. Her robes are spotless but Quinn can smell charred skin and hair as it clings to her. Purple-black light arcs over her shoulders and down her arms like lightning and her eyes glow a dark rusty orange. 

“Ah.” Fallon beams. “Apprentice. Help me clear the way, will you?” 

“With pleasure, _Master_ ,” Jaesa says in her low voice. “I have longed for a chance to test my skills beside yours.” 

With two sith working in tandem and Quinn’s blaster picking off the strays, the trio make their way through the compound, disabling the defenses. Every time Fallon’s holo buzzes, it’s Pierce with a more urgent update. The black ops troopers are dying. 

But the time they destroy the second laser gate, Fallon is informed that Pierce is down to three men against three _hundred_. “Hoped we could take out a whole battalion, my lord,” Pierce says with a worn smile, clutching a blaster burn in his side. “Seems we’ll come up short.” 

He will die valiantly. Quinn is alright with this.

“They were weak,” Jaesa says as the comm flickers out. 

Fallon shakes her head. “The odds were insurmountable, and to take out nearly half a battalion with a handful of troopers is no mean feat. All we really have to do is mop up and kill the General. I’m most impressed.” 

“As you say, Master.” Jaesa’s cheeks are red with embarrassment from the percieved rebuke and Fallon sets a calming hand on her shoulder. 

“It’s a lesson, Jaesa. Embrace it as you embrace all the others.” 

They find Pierce surrounded by bodies, his knuckles bloody and the body closest to him having been _beaten_ to death instead of shot. He looks up and drags himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall. “My lord,” he grunted. “I spent all my ammunition and I’m down to my last medpac, but Durant’s battalion is down.” He exhales, wincing in pain. “So is my unit. Never seen men stare death in the face more bravely.”

Fallon’s features are warm and soft. She pulls her spare medpac from its pocket in her pants and hands it to Pierce, letting her fingers brush his. “You did well. Will you survive?” 

“Lost a lot of blood, but I’ll try to get back to base and get patched up. General Durant and his guards have retreated inside the compound. Proud I ushered you to the doorstep, my lord.” 

“And laid out quite the welcome, I’m beyond impressed, Lieutenant.” She turns and looks at Jaesa. “Jaesa, ensure the Lieutenant makes it back to base and then you may take the evening to enjoy yourself. Taris is famed for its wines. Take a bottle of wine to the ship for Vette.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

Fallon watches Pierce limp after Jaesa with an almost maternal fondness and then turns back down the hallway. “So close, Captain.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

General Durant’s only advantage is that his blaster is using a prototype of the Siantide batteries. He fires it exactly once, catching Fallon in the arm with enough force to shatter the bones in her shoulder and knock her off balance. Her right arm hangs limp and useless at her side but she rushes the general and swings with her left. She severs his right arm in exchange for hers and kicks him onto his back, force blasting his special blaster out of arm's reach and setting her boot on his throat, with just enough pressure to keep him pinned but not strangled. Her chest heaves. 

“You will not . . . defeat . . . General Faraire,” he croaks.

“You won’t be around to hear about it.” She presses down with her toe, like a child compressing a noise-making toy. Durant fights for air, making small rasping noises. “You’re _lucky_ ,” she growls. “If you had pointed that _elsewhere_ I would make you _suffer_.” 

Quinn watches, unsure of her meaning but more importantly _mesmerized_ as Durant claws at her shin and then goes still. “Shoot him to be certain, Captain,” Fallon says, stepping off the General. She hisses as her arm swings free and _that_ is the moment in which Quinn notices her injury. 

He puts a hole in Durant’s head. “My lord, are you--”

“I will need to spend the evening recovering.” She interrupts him. “You’ll have to drive.” 

“Yes, of course my lord.” 

Her holocom buzzes and Fallon pulls it out with her left hand and clears any sign of pain from her features. “Pierce,” she says, “Jaesa.” 

“My master,” Jaesa says, bringing her hands together and bowing her head respectfully. “Darth Baras called and has been updated. Both he and Moff Hurdenn wish to speak to you.” 

“Patch them through, Jaesa.” Fallon’s eyes flick to Quinn’s, as if daring him to mention her injury. He shakes his head once, he will not betray her confidence, and falls into parade rest as Darth Baras flickers into place on the comm. 

“Apprentice, your progress has been conveyed to me, and I have been briefed on the search for General Faraire. Moff Hurdenn informs me that Faraire has relocated all of the Republic’s forces on Taris to protect his command center at the Republic stronghold.”

“Then we know where to find him. Excellent.” Fallon answers. 

“First, you must convene with me. This assault will take all our firepower. I’ve summoned your crew to the base, they will all be utilized.” 

She nods. 

“And I’ve informed Moff Hurdenn that you are commandeering the entirety of his forces.”

“Yes, Right.” Hurdenn flickers into view. “They are yours to command, my lord.” 

“Then I will lead an army.” 

“You will finally sink your teeth into full-scale war. Rest for the evening, then rendezvous with Moff Hurdenn at dawn. There is much planning to do.” 

“Yes, my master,” Fallon lowers her eyes respectfully and keeps them lowered until the comm flicks off. She exhales and looks at Quinn. “Take the General’s blaster, Quinn. We may need it.” 

“Will you be ready by tomorrow?” 

“I must be.” She looks at her shoulder. “The bruising will be bad but with attention we can knit the bones back together by dawn.”

“My lord,” Quinn presses the issue. “The meeting is _at_ dawn. You should rest.” 

“There’s no time,” she gives him a stern look and then turns sharply on her heel and begins to exit the compound, Quinn on her heels. 

#

It’s strange, he thinks, sitting in front of her on the speeder. He tries to be as distant as possible when seated behind _her_ , but Fallon has no such hang ups, her left arm curls around his waist and latches onto his belt to hold herself secure. She rests her cheek against his shoulder, pressed tight to his back. He can _feel_ his heart race and he knows she can hear it, but Fallon says nothing. 

She doesn’t even comment on what he told her before the reactor exploded. 

He gets her to the Command Center and into some requisitioned quarters before she sends him away to find Jaesa, three medpacs, some kolto, a stim and whatever he needs to plan their assault. When he returns, Fallon has shed her jacket and is inspecting the wound. 

Her collar bones are deep enough to drink from. 

She had managed to deflect most of the damage, the shot _should_ have taken the arm _off_ , not just put a hole through it and bruised the tissue to black. She looks up and locks eyes with Jaesa. “I understand you’re familiar with Force healing techniques?” 

“Some, Master,” Jaesa’s tone is gentle. She eyes the wound with worry and hunger. Blood seeps from the hole to run in rivers down Fallon’s crimson skin.

“That’s all I need. Quinn?” She looks up and locks eyes with him. “You’ll handle the other half of this. I need the stim to keep me conscious and your expertise setting the shoulder while Jaesa and I focus on the damage.” 

“Yes, My Lord.” 

Jaesa settles on the floor beside where Fallon sits on the cot. Fallon gives her apprentice a small nod and Jaesa snakes her tongue out to catch some of the blood running down Fallon’s arm. 

“I apologize for the impulse, my master,” Jaesa says. 

“Apologize for nothing, Jaesa. I fight the same urge on occasion.” She looks at Quinn. “Care for a taste?” 

The corners of his mouth ache, but not at the thought of blood. The invitation to taste her skin is almost more than he can stand. “Not my appetite, my lord,” he says. 

It is a long six hours, but Fallon sends Jaesa away to rest and injects the stim into her inner thigh with her left hand, Quinn still holding her right arm to keep it in place. 

Her tolerance for pain is remarkable. Her focus is praiseworthy. It is an hour before dawn when Fallon tries to rotate her arm and winces, but the limb moves. “Can you still plan my battles, Captain?” 

“I can,” Quinn nods and gestures to the pad on his lap. “I’ve been studying. I’ll take a stim before the meeting, not my habit but--”

“Desperate times.” She pulls her arm from his embrace. “You failed to mention that you were a medic when you pledged your service to me,” she offers him a thin smile. “A grievous oversight, Quinn.” 

“I’ll strive to be more forthcoming in the future, my lord.” He gives her a bow and excuses himself to the fresher. 

#

Fallon is the last one to the Council, but no one who wasn’t _told_ would have been able to guess that she had been up all night and grievously injured. The only hint is the flash of white bandages beneath her coat. She holds her head high, eyes bright and commanding. She offers Baras’s holo a respectful tilt of her head. “Time to go to war?” 

“Yes, time is of the essence. Lieutenant Pierce, Captain Quinn, bring my apprentice up to speed on our enemy’s activities.” 

“Yes, my lord.” Quinn bows his head before turning to address Fallon. “It’s a fairly complex situation--”

“General Faraire, the War Trust’s most senior member, is garrisoned in a fortified wing of the Republic’s base,” Pierce interrupts, pulling Fallon’s attention onto himself. Quinn bristles, but forces himself to remain still and silent, _professional_. He will not be overshadowed by the guid at his side. “He’s got a huge army protecting him, more reinforcements on the way. We’re outnumbered eight-to-one.” 

“ _My Lord_ ,” the title is just a little strained as it leaves Quinn’s mouth, pulling Fallon back to him. Her mouth moves, the hint of a smile before it returns to interested placidity. “The Lieutenant’s statistics are inexact, but the general thrust is sound. The numbers favor Faraire, but there are ways around that.” 

“Bet he’d like to give you the _general thrust_ ,” Vette murmurs to Fallon’s left, just softly enough that no one comments and loudly enough that Quinn is _certain_ everyone except Baras heard. He’s not even sure if she means _him_ or _Pierce_ and that was _probably the point_. Fallon’s mouth twitches. 

“If you have a plan, Captain, I would love to hear it,” she says. 

Quinn nods and folds his hands behind his back, outlying the plan he’d spent the night devising and the morning rethinking. It _will_ work, he is certain, so long as everyone plays to their strengths. 

“Captain Quinn will coordinate from the base, Fallon, you will lead the frontline offensive. Beyond that, decide how to assign your men.”

She makes her decisions soundly, playing to the strengths of her team. When she delivers her affirmations that they will succeed, Pierce nods, eyeing her warmly and Quinn wonders if he’s imagining the way the Lieutenant’s eyes dip down to nestle in the crimson ridges of Fallon’s sternum. 

“Good luck, My lord,” Quinn says, hoping his eyes convey everything his tone and posture can’t. “I’ll be coordinating the assaults from here via holo.” 

“Very good, Captain, I’ll see you upon our return, when I have Faraire’s head for my wall.” 

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Pierce _leers_ and Quinn _hates_ him. “The real soldiers have got this one.” 

Vette goes through the Republic’s traps like they’re nothing, Quinn can hear her humming over the comm ( _Nexus Bloody Nexus_ from _Wokun_ ) and wishes she would _stop_ but can’t deny her efficiency. Maybe the humming helps. When he reports her success to Fallon, Fallon beams with pride. “As I told you, Captain, Vette is a valuable asset. I’ll have to do something nice for her when we return to the ship.”

“She’s quite useful when she applies herself, my lord.” 

“And Pierce?”

“The Lieutenant was able to sabotage the Republic spaceport force field controls,” Quinn says, perhaps a _little_ dryly. 

“I knew he was the man for the job.” 

Quinn nods. “Yes, it seems that under that insubordinate exterior lies quite the capable soldier.” He clears his throat, eager to be done talking about Pierce in anything that could be misconstrued as a positive light. “Now the General’s reinforcements will be caught behind the force field and unable to join in the fight. Still, the General’s elite guard clogs the way to the command center. They are quite formidable.” He wants to express his worries, make sure her arm is alright. 

“It would be boring otherwise.” 

“I hope you’re entertained,” he says dryly and with the smallest roll of his eyes, and then he licks his lips and his posture softens _just a little_. “Good luck.” 

“Thank you, Quinn.” 

He can _hear_ the smile when she says it, imagines the warmth in her eyes. He clears his throat, now is not the time. There will likely never be a time. 

He summons Pierce to meet him at the back of the compound and when Faraire tries to run, he runs directly into the sights of Pierce’s blaster and is forced to walk backwards back into the room where Fallon and Jaesa had beaten him. Quinn’s chest swells with pride, a Moff beside him, his enemy in front and Fallon standing there looked bemused and just a touch surprised. 

“Not so fast, General. I _thought_ you might try to run.” 

“I can always count on you, Quinn,” Fallon says, stalking towards them.

His chest feels full to bursting. 

The General surrenders and Fallon shrugs. “My _orders_ were clear, General.” The lightsaber passes through him easily and he slumps. Quinn watches her for any sign of injury, but there is none. 

Jaesa is _grinning_ at the corpse and it’s more than a little unsettling. 

And just when things seemed to be looking up, Moff Hurdenn places Lieutenant Pierce under Fallon’s command and on _the Fury_. Fallon and Pierce exchange smiles, a playful warmth in her eyes. 

Quinn frowns. “Fall in, Lieutenant, I’ll brief you on how things work here once we are aboard _The Fury_.” 

#

Aboard the _Fury,_ Quinn is forced to watch in horror as Fallon accidentally destroys any hope of deluding Pierce into thinking that her operation is run as a traditional military one. She throws her jacket on the back of the couch and undoes her bandage, checking the injury to ensure that she didn’t exacerbate it during combat. Vette hisses with sympathetic pain. 

“I’m fine,” Fallon assures her, reaching up to pet Vette’s head fondly. “Bring me something to drink.” 

“You got it.”


	14. Slippery slopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallon kisses him, Moff Masken is betrayed, Pierce is terrible.

> Fallon cries out sharply, her head tilted up and back to accommodate Quinn’s hand around her neck. The steam from the fresher rises up in a mist around them as Quinn drops his left hand to her clit, massaging in small circles as she tenses and squeezes around his cock. _Harder_ , she breathes, _More._ She arches back to catch his mouth and sinks her sharp teeth into his lower lip, pulling away from him and turning so they are face to face. Her long red legs wrap around his waist and her nails tear into him. _More_.

Quinn exhales slowly and finds Fallon in her chambers, listening to an opera and brushing her hair. He knocks and closes the door when admitted and then takes another breath. 

“Something on your mind, Quinn?” 

“My lord,” he jumps right in, feeling that if he doesn’t speak _precisely_ as he rehearsed he’ll lose the whole thing. “You’ve cause me some . . .difficulty, and I’d like to confirm it was unintended.” 

She raises her brow, waiting for him to continue. 

“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but some time ago it seems you expressed an interest in me _beyond_ our professional relationship.” 

“I’ve left you tossing and turning in your bunk at night, have I?” Fallon draws herself up, from lounging to sitting to standing and with the topic being what it is, Quinn can’t help but let his eyes follow the long slope of her crimson legs beneath her near translucent sleeping robe.

“In a . . . manner of speaking, my lord.” He clears his throat and forces his eyes to hers. “Which is why I bring it up. I’ll admit you have a knack for . . . surprising me. I’m typically swifter on my toes. I should have _immediately_ said that any personal involvement between us could cloud judgement and jeopardize your campaigns.” 

Fallon sets her brush aside and steps around the table, robbing him of the distance he was using. She sets her hand on his chest and his heart flutters. “You’re a brilliant analyst. Surely you’ve noticed that I _enjoy_ risks.” Her lips brush his and before he can help himself he kisses her back, hands on her hips to hold her close. His gloved fingers twitch, torn between gripping her tight and trying to maintain some facsimile of distance. Fallon’s tongue coaxes his mouth open and leaves him breathless. He’s not proud of the noise that rises out of the back of his throat, a hungry _whine_ that has no place between a Sith and her Officer. 

He pulls away and Fallon lets him. She tilts her head, curious and playful, smirking victoriously. Beautiful and fierce and everything he’s never let himself want. 

And if Baras needs her dead, _Quinn_ will have to play the trigger man. 

It isn’t just _her_ campaigns that he might ruin. 

“This . . . my lord, I _am_ drawn to you, make _no_ mistake. But this should not continue, it’s . . . improper.” He feels like a _child_ , hiding behind rules because he is frightened. His hands lift slowly, grudgingly, off her hips to fall back at his sides, limp and useless. 

“There’s no rush, Quinn.” Her eyes move to his mouth and he forces himself not to kiss her _again_. “I’m old enough to practice restraint in some areas.” 

Taris was a nightmare, they almost blew up, her arm was broken, he had to sit back and wait while she took the front lines (not something he _usually_ worried about). 

But she wants him the same way he wants her. 

And that _almost_ makes things alright.

And it certainly makes things more complicated. 

“You’ve given me much to think about,” he chickens out with a small bow. “My lord. I will return to my duties.” 

The door opens behind him and Fallon smiles. “Quinn?”

“Yes?”

“It’s late, get some sleep.”

#

“So.” Vette flops onto the settee, waiting for silent permission before she sets her head in Fallon’s lap. “Is Lieutenant Mountain moving in?” 

Fallon huffs a quiet laugh. “He already lives aboard this ship, Vette.”

“Yeah, but is he _moving in_ because the image of him and Captain Paranoid sharing a room is _hilarious_.” Her grin sharpens, teasing and vibrant. “Do you think there’ll be _pillow fights_?”

“Absolutely not.” Quinn’s eyes flash towards the refresher where Pierce is taking his time. “My lord, I would--”

Fallon holds up a hand to silence him. “ _If_ Pierce does move in, he will be afforded his own room.” 

“He could always rest in yours, Master.” Jaesa hung against the wall, a glass of red wine in her hand. “I heard him offering his . . . services . . . earlier.” 

Quinn’s expression clears, carefully keeping the fury from his features. His eyes flicker up to Jaesa’s and her mouth moves to a cruel smile. 

“The lieutenant merely wanted to be certain I knew he was fit for duty in whatever way I required.” Fallon says with a small laugh. “But even if I _were_ interested in taking him up on the offer, he would be afforded his own room. It would take something _extraordinary_ for me to share my space long-term with a man, even the one in my bed.” 

“So you’re _not_ interested in him?” Vette asks. Quinn is forced to wonder if she’s ignorant of his attraction or purposely goading him, both are equally likely and in any case he can’t do anything but listen and wait for the answer. He sips his caff. 

“My eyes are elsewhere, Vette.” Fallon croons. “Not that it is _any_ of your business.” 

“Sorry.” 

Fallon nods. 

For Quinn, it feels like a victory. 

#

She takes Pierce with her to board Darth Vengean’s ship, leaving Quinn at the helm and Vette at the guns in case something happens. Jaesa will know if something goes awry, the bonding exercises she and Fallon have practiced coming into play. 

The ship is _already_ under siege when they arrive, but Quinn receives a comforting comm from Fallon that she and Pierce have made it aboard and are leaving a trail of Republic dead in their wake as they hurry to the ship’s bridge. 

He wishes he were beside her for it. 

She returns with fury in her eyes, red-black smoke swirling around her wrists and ankles. Beautiful, and terrible, and silent until she reaches the cockpit. “Captain,” she says softly. “Take us to Quesh.” 

“At once, my lord.” He directs _the Fury_ towards the planet below. “What happened?” 

“Moff Masken is dead,” she says. “A leak he blamed on Baras and myself. The Admiral has escaped, somewhere on Quesh.” Her lips curl up and back in a snarl. “There are pieces out of place, Captain, and I dislike being taken for an unwitting pawn.” 


	15. Quesh-tions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baras discards another useful tool, to Quinn's dismay and then an old friend needs a rescue.

As little as he liked Taris, _Quesh_ is possibly Quinn’s least favorite planet. He knows it’s going to be bad when they’re stopped before boarding the shuttle to get inoculated against Quesh’s atmosphere, which is apparently _highly toxic_. 

Delightful.

He can understand the importance, medical stims and poisons are as important to winning a war as surely as blasters and men to hold them. The importance does little to lessen the discomfort. 

“Pierce,” Fallon says, locking eyes with the Lieutenant as they settle inside the shuttle and begin the descent to the planet’s surface. “I want you and Jaesa to assist the Military while we’re here. Speak with Moff Dracen and keep in constant contact with me.”

“Why?” Jaesa asks., “It will be done, my Master but--”

“Because, this war is more important than the in-fighting of the Sith and what Moff Masken said has implied that some of our superiors have _forgotten_ that. I intend to remind them and to keep the Empire strong while doing so.” She folds her hands together and crosses her legs. “Quinn, if you would prefer, I will take Pierce with me to deal with Admiral Monk and you can report to Moff Dracen.” 

He looks at the Lieutenant and tries to convey triumph amidst nonchalance. _He_ is given a choice. Pierce may have his leavings. “No, my lord.” Quinn shakes his head. “I will stay with you.” 

She nods and gives him a small smile but he can’t ignore the hint of something worrying hiding in the corners of her yellow eyes. 

#

Admiral Monk is one of Baras’s spies, but while _Quinn_ didn’t know that, Fallon looks more irritated than surprised. The Admiral calls her an idiot when she asks for clarification, just to be _certain_ that that’s what’s happening, Quinn’s stance shifts just a little, his eyes trained on Monk’s men, ready to shoot the first one that moves. 

Fallon shakes her head. “I didn’t ask if you were his spies, he just sent me here to kill you.” 

“This is _foolish_ ,” Monk snarls. “We’ve been loyal to him; our covers are intact. Why would he destroy something so valuable?” 

Quinn can’t help but hear her complaints about Rylon from more than a year ago. Baras’s habit of casting away useful tools. 

It doesn’t bode well for _her_ , now that he thinks about it. Fallon may be useful, clever and powerful, but she’s headstrong and Quinn understands at least the basis of how Sith work. Lord Baras will tolerate her as long as she walks the gentle balance between _useful_ and _threatening_ and then nip her in the bud. 

Brilliant, if disconcerting. 

Quinn can’t imagine how _he’s_ lasted this long, probably because _right now_ Baras needs him as insurance against her. And Quinn owes him _everything_. He has been loyal for ten years, loyal, well-positioned, and unable to rise up even if he _wanted_ to. And he doesn’t. Lord Baras acts in the interest of the Empire. 

Before he dies, Monk says that Baras will betray her, and Fallon nods, her expression dispassionate. “I know.” She severs Monk’s head from his body and barely spares the corpse a second glance as she turns, clipping her lightsabers back to her belt.. “Come, Captain. I’ve had enough of this place.” 

“Yes, my lord.” He follows her out, unable to agree more. 

#

Jaesa and Pierce clearly had a more pleasant time. Pierce takes extra time in the refresher when he and Jaesa return to _The Fury_ and Jaesa sits at Fallon’s feet to regale her about taking down a Hutt and Republic Adrenal factory. Fallon pulls her brush through Jaesa’s dark hair and nods, smiling faintly as her apprentice describes kicking Master Fraal into the Quesh Venom. 

Her certainty that Baras will betray her seems out of place, given her lavish affections on her _own_ apprentice. Quinn considers asking, and then thinks the better of it. 

“You seem . . . tense,” Vette says, flopping onto the settee on Fallon’s other side. “Anything I can do?” 

“Perhaps,” Fallon says. “Tonight, however, I just want some girl time.” She smiles at both Jaesa and Vette. “Come on, I want your opinions of some things.” 

“Ooh!” Vette grins. “Can we break into the brandy you’ve been saving?” 

Fallon nods but the chuckle he has come to expect in response to Vette’s inane antics doesn’t follow it. “I don’t see why not.”

Something about the whole interaction is suspicious, but there’s nothing Quinn can say as Jaesa and Vette follow Fallon into her room. 

Later, Quinn watches as she lies sweetly to Baras, claiming that _Admiral Monk_ must have killed Moff Masken. Since Monk himself is dead, Baras declares the mission a success and lavishes her with praises that are just as insincere as her batting eyelashes. Quinn’s stomach hurts. 

He turns to other interests and comes across a series of broken Imperial Signals on one of the encrypted channels he uses. The interference is _impressive_ , but he manages to trace the source and brings what he learns to Fallon. 

“--Major Ovech, commander of Moff Broysc’s elite infiltrator unit, but that’s all I’ve found.” 

Fallon nods, and (thankfully) doesn’t comment on the way he _harps_ on Broysc as a theme. Ten years of having a powerful man _dedicate_ himself to destroying Quinn’s life is apparently an acceptable reason for an almost obsessive grudge. “Do you know Ovech?” she asks.

“I served with him for many years.” Quinn nods, fighting the urge to smile at the memories. He remembers Ovech with a fondness he used to consider indecent. Tall and capable with broad shoulders and strong hands. “He’s an unmatched leader. Moff Broysc’s ship does not respond when hailed and my gut says there’s trouble. Permission to investigate further?” 

“Of course, Captain.” Fallon says with a little glow in her eyes. 

#

With Fallon’s permission, Quinn is able to dedicate _actual_ resources to clearing up the channel and clears the channel enough to establish contact. It’s _good_ to see Ovech’s face again and Quinn’s chest swells with pride as the Major praises him to Fallon. It’s good the think that the fondness is shared between them. That he left an _impression_ on one of the finest men he’s ever served under. 

Fallon gives a knowing nod. “Captain Quinn has proven invaluable to me time and again.” She says it, again, without looking at him and without any warmth in her tone. Just the facts. 

“Wish I still had him in my detail.” Ovech gives Quinn a pitiful glance for a moment before returning his attention to Fallon. “Probably would have avoided this mess.”

“What’s happened?” 

“Moff Broysc dispatched me and my officers to a secret weapons warehouse on Cato Neimoidia. Trouble is, it ain’t a secret no more. We’re holed up, surrounded by Republic forces. Trying to get Broysc to send the rest of my unit, but he’s gone radio silent.” Ovech shakes his head and sighs. More irritated than surprised. 

“It’s worse than that, my lord,” Quinn says, folding his hand behind his back. “The major’s ship has been commandeered by the Moff’s personal commandos and ordered to stay put.”

“Why the fuck--” the swear feels indelicate on her painted mouth and Quinn loves it. 

He clears his throat and tries to unthink it. 

“That tears it.” Ovech snorts. “Seen it a hundred times with Broysc. Better to cut bait and let good soldiers die than admit a mistake.” 

Fallon taps her lips with a long finger. “Actually, it sounds more like Moff Broysc wants you dead. Any idea why?” 

“Same reason he demoted and exiled Quinn, I’m guessing.” Ovech frowns. “I’m his only officer who’s not shy about my opinion.” The sound of blaster fire erupts from the holo. “Enemy was just pausing between breaths, gearing up again. Looks like the end of the line for me, but I’m not going down without a fight! Ovech out!” 

The channel goes quiet and Quinn spins on his heel to face her, speaking quickly. “My lord, Ovech would be a _terrible_ loss. I served on his ship, I know it like the back of my hand. I can infiltrate and try to restore command to his men. Then they would be free to join the fight.” 

“Move out immediately, Captain.” She ordered. “Take the shuttle.” 

“Coordinates are--” 

“ _Immediately_ ,” She repeats. “We’ll pick you up. Go.” 

#

Quinn returns two nights later, his chest still pumping from the adventure. Pierce, even, looks a little impressed with him, though it won’t last. Fallon is in the Captain’s chair when he enters the cockpit. He doesn’t _care_ why Vette isn’t flying. All he cares about is that they are alone and he was victorious. 

He clears his throat for her attention and snaps a sharp salute as Fallon turns down her music. “My lord, returning from action.” He smiles despite himself. “Pleased to report that Major Ovech and most of his officers were saved.” He recalls what she said about wanting a _story_ after Voloren and clears his throat, willing to try at least. “I was able to infiltrate Ovech’s starship and seize control of the operating systems. I identified where his men were being held, freed them and locked Moff Broysc’s occupying force on the Bridge. Ovech’s men promptly rescued him.” 

He doesn’t have the gift for storytelling, but his enthusiasm is apparent and her yellow eyes glow fondly. Her eyes dip to his mouth and he thinks about the one kiss they shared and how _good_ it would be to share another. 

“And you wonder _why_ I want you in my bed,” Fallon says with a small sigh, eliciting a fierce blush. She chuckles and rises out of his seat. “You’re a genius, Quinn, and I’m glad you’re on our side.” 

“I--thank you, my lord. You’re too kind.” He clears his throat. “The Empire is stronger with Major Ovech, it would have been a shame if he was squandered. Thank you for the opportunity, I will return to my duties.” 

“Eat and shower, first. Rest for a bit. We’ll need you at your peak.” She turns her attention back to the plexiglass and the stars outside.

“My lord?” 

“Baras sent word while you were gone. We’re going to Hoth, looking for a Jedi Knight named Xerender. You may remember the name.” 

“The one the Chiss Fawste helped land undetected?” It’s only a question by technicality, he remembers. 

“Exactly right.” She looks tired. “So rest.” 


	16. The Icy Landscape Your Absence Has Condemned me to (But at least I'm not the one on Hoth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn remains aboard The Fury with Vette as Fallon takes Pierce and Jaesa jedi hunting.

As little as he liked Quesh, _Hoth_ is actually Quinn’s least favorite planet. He looks at the holo-protected map and shivers automatically. Hoth is lifeless and frozen, the storms play havoc with communications. It is the worst post. 

“Captain?” Fallon says, the sliver of a smile in her tone. 

“Back in the day I managed to escape assignment here,” he explains. “It chills my bones just to be in orbit around this frigid planet.” 

“Uhm, yeah,” Vette gives a fake cough. “You should leave me on the ship.” She coughs again. “I think I’m fighting off a cold.” 

Pierce snarls. “Forget those cowards, my lord. A little snow won’t stop me. I’m ready for action.”

“The soldier mirrors my attitude, master, I want to consume every experience I can.” Jaesa’s tone is low and even, she eyes the holo with hunger before looking back at Fallon. 

Fallon nods, her smile dark and sharp. “Well, that’s straightforward enough. Vette, Captain, you’ll stay here. Pierce, Jaesa, let’s go murder a Jedi Knight.” 

“Yes, My lord!” Pierce grins. He shoots Quinn a dirty look. “And if you get cold, I can get hot enough for the both of us.” 

Vette snaps in a “z” formation and then laughs while Quinn locks his jaw to keep from responding.

Fallon rolls her eyes, but her smile is warm and inviting. She disappears into her quarters and re-emerges in layers, wearing white for the first time in all the months that Quinn has known her. She adjusts her gloves and smiles fondly as Pierce and Jaesa join her near the airlock, dressed similarly. 

“Captain,” she turns and gives Quinn a nod. “The ship is yours.” 

#

Vette leaves him alone and Quinn isn’t sure what to do about that. Normally she finds some excuse to pester him, but the ship is silent, devoid even of music. While on his way to the fresher, Quinn finds Vette working on . . . something, one lekku over her shoulder. She chews her lower lip and strokes the lekku for comfort and then shrugs it back and resumes typing. 

Quinn returns to the cockpit, waiting for orders. His _personal_ comm buzzes and Quinn straightens immediately as he produces the device from a pocket and gives Darth Bara a low bow. “My lord.” 

“Quinn,” Baras’s voice is almost slick when he speaks, demanding an update of their activities, just in case Fallon has _overlooked_ any details. Quinn is as precise and emotionless as possible when he answers every question honestly and provides extra information surrounding each event. 

“Well done, Captain. I shall be in touch.” 

“Very good, My Lord.” Quin says. The channel goes dark and he deflates. At least Fallon is serving the Empire. She is useful and beneficial and _brilliant_ and hopefully she won’t give Baras any reason to eliminate her. 

Hours pass and it will be dark near Dorn Base, where Fallon was heading to meet Commander Lanklyn. The _ship’s_ holo beeps and Quinn’s eyes light up. He takes the call at the terminal, rather than in the cockpit and forces himself not to smile when he sees her, bundled up in a thermal suit with her hood down because she’s calling from inside. The line is staticy and she wavers in miniature, distorted as the signal struggles. 

He hopes Pierce is _miserable._

_“_ Ah, Captain,” she says over the static. “Good. I want you to resupply and refuel while you’re docked with the Orbital station. We’re going to be here a bit longer than expected. Xerender’s super weapon is Jedi Master Wyellett and there’s a rogue Talz in the mix. Moreover, Baras was . . . frustrated . . . with Commander Lanklyn, update our records to show that Commander _Slinte_ is now in charge of Darth Baras’s dealings on Hoth.” 

“Of course, My lord.” Quinn gives a small bow. “You seem in high spirits.” 

“The cold air gets the blood boiling,” Fallon offers a sharp smile. “And I’ve decided that, after a _particularly_ poor choice of words on Xerender’s fault, I’m going to rip his throat out with my teeth.” 

Quinn can’t help the image, blood dripping down her chin like apnack juice, her eyes vibrant and alight with power as her tongue snakes out to lick her lips clean. It’s not uncommon for Sith to feast on the blood of their enemies, perhaps she’s finally found one she considers worthwhile. “Very good, My lord,” he says, sounding just a touch more strained than he would like. He wants to ask if she’ll be taking Pierce up on his offer of _warmth_ but it isn’t his place. 

And he’s not sure he wants the answer; remembering Breev back on Tatooine. Sith embrace and feed their passions. 

“How are things aboard the ship?”

“Quiet, my lord. I think Vette is _up_ to something, but I’m not sure what and it’s keeping her quiet.” 

“Her project has my sanction,” Fallon says easily. “And I’m impressed with your restraint. Inform Vette that she has an extra stipend of two hundred credits for personal use while she’s resupplying.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The channel goes still. Quinn relaxes and lets himself smile at the empty space. He hopes she’s staying warm. That the hunt is proving worthwhile and invigorating.

That she’s thinking of him.

> Her skin is soft and lightly scented. Fallon’s thigh tenses as his teeth graze it but the way she curls one hand in his hair is encouragement enough. She smells like the rain on Dromund Kaas and she tastes like cooked apnack, spicy and addictive. He circles her clit with his tongue and feels her arch backwards, crying out his name with abandon. When her cries become more desperate, Fallon claws at his jacketed shoulders and pulls him up, her legs wrapping around his waist.

#

He hears nothing for another two nights and then the comm buzzes. He plays music in the background: _Jen Saarajikut, Wokun_ , _Hylahâsk,_ a few others because suddenly the silence feels deafening. Further troubling is just how _relieved_ he is to see Fallon’s face over the holo, her stern features redone in wavery monotone blue and her head held high and victorious. “It’s done, I’ve updated Baras as to the deaths of both Xerender _and_ his Master Wyellett.”

Quinn’s heart thuds. “I’m pleased to hear it, My Lord.”

“Thank you, Captain. Make up space in the cargo bay, I’m bringing a new recruit along with me. You may expect us within the day.” 

“Yes, my lord. May I ask who?” 

“Broonmark, the rogue Talz I mentioned. His aptitude and appetite for destruction should make him a worthwhile and enthusiastic tool.” 

The distinction stands out. No matter how useful he is, she doesn’t trust this Talz yet. She’s still deciding about Pierce. 

But _he_ , Quinn swells, is an _asset_. 

Trusted and cared for.

#

She returns to the ship a few hours later, a Talz walking beside Pierce and Jaesa at her side carrying a sealed bowl. Quinn greets them in the lounge beside the Holoterminal. “My Lord, I trust everything went well?” 

“Marvelously,” Fallon purrs, her eyes aglow. “Pierce, see Broonmark to his quarters in the Cargo bay, you may continue to instruct him on my operation’s workings there.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Pierce throws a lazy salute in Fallon’s direction. “Alright, march,” he points down the hall and the Talz buzzes something that is both an afirmation and a threat. Pierce snorts. “Like to see you try, move.” 

Fallon shakes her head, smiling fondly. “Do not _kill_ each other,” she commands. “I require you both in fighting shape.” She turns to Jaesa and takes from her the covered bowl. “Jaesa, you have first turn with the refresher as agreed.”

“No way he’ll drink it,” Pierce laughs as he turns into the cargo bay after Broonmark. “He’s got less stomach than that twi’lek.” 

“I have a _name_!” Vette shouts from the engine room. 

Once they are alone, Fallon holding her bowl and Quinn still at parade rest, Fallon turns her full attention to him. He expects her to say something exasperated and fond about the others, but instead she peels the lid off her bowl and offers it to him. “It will need to be reheated, but I thought you might enjoy it.” 

He takes the bowl, allowing himself to frown in confusion, and looks down into the scarlet liquid. “My Lord?” He looks back at her, waiting for an explanation.

“You’re not squeamish, are you, Quinn?” She raises one brow like a challenge and he recalls Pierce’s parting shot. “Bloodsoup, courtesy of Jedi Knights Xerender and Wyellett. My father’s take on the recipe, missing a spice because apparently no one on Hoth uses irroc.” 

“I’m . . . I am . . . overwhelmed, my lord,” Quinn says softly, rendered almost speechless. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“Well.” her smile is warm, just a touch teasing but . . . affectionate. “It is generally considered rude to talk with your mouth full.” 

“I did it!” Vette’s cry ruins the moment, her elation crashing through the intimate silence of Quinn, Fallon, and a truly _personal_ gift. Fallon’s eyes narrow with irritation and then her expression clears, a small smile on her mouth. “Duty calls. Enjoy your soup, Captain.” 

For the first time, as she leaves to investigate the source of Vette’s delight, Quinn watches her leave and almost begs her to call him _Malavai_. 

He reheats the dish and tastes it. The blood comes through, reminding him of all the times he’s swallowed his own, but then there are the spices. The dish is spicy, but not overwhelming. There’s a sweetness beneath the copper that he can’t place. 

It’s good. He smiles at the bottom of the bowl, spoon resting on the side. He likes it. 


	17. Enter The Draagh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallon murders a Dark Council Member and meets Baras's secret apprentice

Fallon decides on a detour on the way back to Dromund Kaas and it’s not Quinn’s place to question. She and Vette disembark the ship once they land on Nar Shadda, Vette bouncing on the balls of her feet whenever she stops walking. Looking clearly _excited_ but looking more than a little nervous. 

“You’d think Fallon was takin’ her to a prostitute for the first time,” Pierce comments, leaning against the ship and chewing loudly as he watches them leave. 

Quinn shoots him a withering glare. “ _Lord Noicrothatch_ ,” he corrects automatically. “And your crassness knows no bounds, Lieutenant. I am _certain_ there is _something_ more productive for you to be doing.” 

“Not right now, and I take my orders from her direct,” he points after Fallon with the same hand that’s holding his snack. “So, _Captain_ , are you _ever_ gonna fuck that?” 

Quinn sets his jaw and refuses to dignify the question with a response. Pierce is solely trying to get a rise out of him and he is determined that it won’t work. 

“Leave it too long and I’ll get there first.” 

Not for the first time that afternoon, Quinn wonders if Fallon would believe that the Lieutenant committed suicide or wandered off or simply needed to be shot. She would not and Pierce is a _competent_ soldier and an important part of her power base. 

“Hah! You’re too easy to piss off, _Captain_.” Pierce pushes off the landing gear, huge and leering. “She’s sith, I’d be disappointed if she really went for that stuffed shirt posturing you do. Maybe she just wants to see you break.” He laughs again. “Well, Shore leave is shore leave. I’ll be back when she needs me.” 

Quinn is grateful for the silence. 

Jaesa leaves shortly after, out for blood or pleasure or both in one of the seedier districts (and nowhere does seedy like Nar Shadda). 

Quinn, alone save for Broonmark, takes some time to himself in refresher to work out his frustrations, grateful for the empty ship as he does. He dries off and combs his hair into place, heading to the cockpit to try and improve productivity in some vein or another. 

#

“Not enjoying your shore leave, Captain?” Fallon asks, stepping into the cockpit. “I did suggest the crew take some down time while I was busy here.” 

“I was recalibrating our firing algorithms, my lord.” Quinn lies, standing up and straight before he gives her a small nod. “We should see a small increase in accuracy.” He’d been wondering where she was, what she was doing. If she was thinking of him. He had been _trying_ to recalibrate the firing algorithms, because it would have been _productive._

“I’m sure that will please Pierce once he’s back.” It’s clear she doesn’t believe him, but she doesn’t press. 

He wants to say something about he doesn’t give a solitary banthashit about what pleases Pierce, but he refrains. “Was your business here a success?” 

“Yes,” Fallon nods, leaving the cockpit. “We’ll continue on to Dromund Kaas once Jaesa and Pierce return. I’m going to go see what Broonmark wanted.” 

#

He accompanies her to Darth Baras’s sanctum when they reach Dromund Kaas, listening to Pierce and Vette chat about furniture placements. They will conspire someway to annoy him, Quinn is certain. But perhaps Vette will now split her efforts between harassing him and harassing Pierce. 

“So you’ve decided that the Lieutenant has a place in the stronghold?” He asks, almost accidentally using the nickname for the apartment. Fallon’s mouth shifts to a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, settling beside him in the taxi, her leg touching his. 

“He proved himself on Hoth. While Pierce is crass and disrespectful, I’ve found him driven and loyal. I have faith in his service to me.” She chuckles. “Moreover, he makes me laugh.” 

Quinn doesn’t quite feel it when he says, “very good, my lord” but he manages to get the words out without choking on them or frowning too deeply. 

Fallon’s mood sours the closer they get to Baras’s sanctum but she waits to speak until the taxi lands, turning to look at him. “Quinn, I suspect when we get inside that Baras is going to order me to move against Darth Vengean, which is _why_ I didn’t bring Jaesa. Her training still has a ways to go before I involve her in the intricacies of sith politics.” Her frown deepens. “Your first and most important duty should it come to a fight with Darth Vengean is to keep yourself alive and at a distance.” Her jaw tenses. “Is that clear, Captain?” 

“Yes, my lord.”

Inside, Baras confirms her suspicions, and Quinn isn’t sure if he’s supposed to look surprised or who he’s supposed to look surprised _for_. He settles for not and neither sith comments on it. He bows to Baras, letting his eyes linger just a moment too long in question 

before he follows Fallon out and around to Darth Vengean’s private chambers. 

_Keep yourself alive and at a distance_. Strange orders from a Sith. He can’t help but wonder _why_. Not that he will ask. It is not his _place_ to ask. 

He’s seen her fight countless times and he’s revealed in the precision and the fury, how blissful she is even as she slices clear through an opponent. There is anger, but the anger is always positioned beneath her adrenaline fueled ecstasy. 

This is different. The heat is missing. She dispatches Vengean’s disciples and guards but her eyes don’t _glow_. Her mouth is a thin line, the razor smile missing. 

Something is wrong and Quinn can’t ask _what_. 

Lord Draahg is a human male strapped to an interrogation table with weak life signs. Fallon gives Quinn a nod and he produces a stim and sticks it in Draahg’s arm as Fallon speaks. “Lord Draahg, Darth Baras sent me. My man is administering a resuscitation stimulant.”

“I--” Draahg winces and moves. “I’m grateful. To you and to Baras. I look forward to serving him directly once Dath Vengean has been destroyed.” 

“I was told you know where to find him.” There’s something different about her voice. Empty, dispassionate, icy. 

“He’s in his inner sanctum, communing with the darkside, channeling his rage and power. We have to confront him there, but it won’t be easy to access.” 

Fallon listens as Draagh outlines the defenses and what must be done. Her expression remains unmoved when he gives her a small bow and swears that they’ll make a good team. She meets Quinn’s questioning glance with a small shake of her head. 

Draagh flatters her when he meets them at the final door. Fallon raises her brow in disbelief. “I dislike false praise, Lord Draagh,” she says, the hint of a snarl underlying the words. 

“Then _believe_ it’s sincere,” Draagh replies. “I almost didn’t make it. There were traps in the passages. I got the key, but Darth Vengean almost certainly knows we’re coming.” 

“We will defeat him regardless,” Fallon says. 

“I will feed off your confidence,” Draahg puts in the passcode. 

And the door opens. 

Vengean is _indeed_ waiting for them. He threatens Draahg, which Quinn expects, but he turns his eyes to Fallon and smiles. “And _you_. Before you, Baras was but a bit player. He would be nothing without you.” 

Quinn bristles. 

“Perhaps. Baras’s true talent is acquiring the brilliant,” Fallon answers coolly. “That’s presently irrelevant, however.” 

“Your talents are _wasted_ on that man.” Vengean says, shaking his head and wrinkling his nose. “It sickens me. Your master doesn’t deserve you. He’s a coward, pushing buttons from the darkness. You and I are people of action.” 

“I am,” Fallon nods. “You _were_.” 

“You’ve been outplayed,” Draahg drawls. “Darth Baras has shown the galaxy that your wits are dull and your reach is short.”

“Enough!” Vengean shouts, the room rocking as he does. “I will not be insulted nor patronized! Beg me. Beg for mercy and I will kill you quickly.” 

Finally, there is a flicker of true emotion on Fallon’s face. Her mouth twitches and her lightsaber ignites. “I do not _beg_.” She leaps forward and Draahg darts to her side. 

As instructed, Quinn hangs back, firing at the Darth and administering kolto from a distance to keep Fallon on her feet as the Darth bombards her with blow after blow. 

But Fallon is strong, and Draahg is strong, and there are two of them. 

Vengean falls and Fallon unignites her lightsaber after severing his head _to be sure_. She accepts Draahg’s compliments with skepticism, but nods and turns to leave, Quinn at her side, when he says he has to clean up a few things before he meets her back in Baras’s chambers. 

Quinn wants, with every fiber, to ask if she’s alright. To be her confidant in this moment when she clearly needs one. But Fallon is silent, and he can’t ask her to place her trust in him and more than she already has. 

Particularly because he _knows_ that he can not be trusted. Not when it is between her and Baras. Not when he owes Baras _everything_. 

Vengean’s death is another step in Baras’s rise to power, and the revelation of a secret apprentice is a troubling development. 

But Baras is overjoyed when they return, announcing with delight that he will be returning to Korriban to claim Vengean’s council seat. He welcomes Lord Draahg into the fold with unparalleled delight and Quinn hopes, just _hopes_ that with Baras’s rise to power complete there will be no need to dispose of Fallon. 

“Go, my apprentice,” Baras praises. “Enjoy this victory. But be ready for my call, I will not be idle long.” 

“With pleasure, master,” Fallon bows and exits, Quinn on her heels. She doesn’t smile until they reach the Stronghold. 


	18. On The Venn Diagram Of Good Ideas And Mistakes This Kiss Is Both

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Downtime on Dromund Kaas and Quinn finally kisses her. Also, Aro Ace Pierce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like a tool I posted this chapter before the one that comes before it, which is why it's now chapter 18. Sorry guys.

“You’re such a tease, Lieutenant,” Fallon says from the settee. Quinn pauses in the doorway, the warm tone setting him ill at ease. The lights are dimmed but he can easily make out Pierce’s silhouette leaning against the window. 

“You know I’m good for it, my lord.”

“Yes, but not out of any interest of your own.” 

“Noticed that, did you?” Pierce rolls his shoulders as he chuckles. “True enough, I’ve never had a taste for women, my lord. Or men, before you start thinking I’ve got any interest in that trussed up ponce of a captain.”

Fallon’s laugh is rich and it carries. Quinn leans deeper into the shadows to keep from being spotted. “Never crossed my mind, Lieutenant. But I am curious, if you’re not interested in sex for yourself, why the offers?”

“Orgasms are good for the health, m’Lord.” Quinn tries to be comforted that at least Pierce has the decorum to call her _my lord_ even if every other aspect of this conversation is disconcerting. 

And he is not a _trussed up ponce_. Not that he has any interest in Pierce or any concern for Pierce’s opinion. 

“It’s masturbation with two people,” Pierce continues. “Good for the heart and what’s good for the body and mind is good for the job. Sir.”

“Very true.” Quinn can hear the smile. “And I suspect the strings people imagine around sex allow for you to predict their movements and propel yourself up the ladder.”

“Yes, M’lord. It’s a tool like any other.”

“Brilliant,” she praises. “And medically sound. I may suggest an arrangement to Jaesa, if you’re will to . . . play doctor.” 

“Long as I’m breathing at the end, sir.” 

“I’ll be quite clear with her.” 

“Thank you. You know, it’s a bit of a wonder Quinn hasn’t tried to use it. Perfect excuse into your bed, my lord, as ship’s doctor.”

Quinn’s ears go red and his cheeks flush. He looks around for something discreetly knock over and interrupt the conversation, but there’s nothing and he _wants_ to hear her response. 

The response is a rich, clear laugh as Fallon stands up off the couch and crosses to the window near Pierce. She touches the glass with one red hand, watching the raindrops outside. “He’s the only person who thinks he needs an excuse. It’s almost as touching as it is infuriating.” 

Quinn nearly stops breathing. 

“Could just pin him in place, my Lord,” Pierce suggests. 

Quinn pictures it, being held in place by the sheer force of her will. One of her hands around his throat and her tongue in his mouth. He closes his eyes and bites the inside of his lip and slowly, careful to keep his footfalls from echoing, backs out the way he came, thinking to spend some time on the balcony under Dromund Kaas’s icy rain. 

“Not my style, Lieutenant,” Fallon’s voice follows him. “Well, not unless he asks.”

# 

Quinn closes his eyes, letting the movement carry him away. _Jen Saarajikut,_ Fallon’s favorite opera. He exhales and realizes he’s memorized the scene, even if the words are in a language he doesn’t speak. Moxzae and her lover (Shot Kunne, an impressionable Jedi) meet for the first time in combat and Moxzae swears that, not only will she break Shot Kunne’s guard, she will break her chains. 

But that’s not the part that troubles him. The troubling part is that this is _Fallon’s_ opera. She sings it in the refresher, favoring Moxzae’s parts because they are deeper. He’s memorized all of Shot Kunne’s lines, even though he’s not a singer himself. 

The longer they go without news, the more Quinn worries. He thought, briefly, that as a member of the Dark Council, Baras might be secure enough to not need to discard Fallon, but the more Quinn listens to Fallon instruct Jaesa, the more obvious it is that Baras will call on Quinn to end her. 

She is too strong, too clever, too ambitious. She will be a threat to him as long as she is living. 

And Quinn, despite his efforts, is finding himself forced to realize that he’s at risk of falling in love with her. With everything about her. Fallon is a torch and she sets everything aflame. She is a stronger wake up call than his caff. He wants nothing more than to drop to his knees and belong to her. To watch her pull the Empire to glory. 

But it’s not even _that_ innocent. He wants to fuck her. He _desperately_ wants to fuck her. His nights are filled with visions of her hips and tits and thighs. He imagines gripping her ass and sinking his teeth into her to quiet his cries as he drives her into the wall. The bed. The side of the refresher, his chair in the cockpit, the dining room table, the engine. Any surface he’s forced to look at for more than about five minutes really. He wants to grab her by the hair and thrust into her mouth and he wants to drop to his knees and take her apart with his tongue so keenly that he blocks out every ambition or thought in her head if only for a few moments. 

There’s only one option and it may prove to be the hardest choice of his career. He pulls on his uniform, pressed and straight and checks his reflection to ensure his armor is perfect. He is a Captain. In this moment, he must _be_ a Captain more than he is a man. 

He knocks on her door and waits to be admitted. “My Lord.” 

She looks him up and down and a small confused smile curls over her mouth. “ _Captain_.” She gestures for him to join her and he’s just grateful she’s actually dressed, rather than in her night robe. _Jen Saarajikut_ plays in the background, the same movement he’d been playing in his quarters. Fallon waves her hand and it softens. Outside the rain beats against the windows, adding an atmospheric soundtrack he could do without. 

“Thank you for your attention. I must _officially_ request to be reassigned.” 

She stares at him for a long moment and then offers him a skeptical smile and raises her brow. “Why would I want that?”

“For the sake of you and the crew,” Quinn says, letting urgency drip into his tone. “I must speak freely.” He reaches up absently and cards a hand through his hair, undoing all his hard work. “I am _compromised_. Thoughts of you have begun to . . . distract me. My feelings affect my ability to concentrate. I can not, in good conscience, continue to serve.” 

Fallon studies him for a long moment, her yellow eyes moving from his tousled hair to his mouth and then back to his eyes. She exhales. “If you insist on reassignment, it will be a shame, but I’ll grant it.” 

Quinn’s mouth falls open. He hadn’t actually expected her to agree, but there she is, willing to let him go if it’s what he requests. She doesn’t hold his billet.

Wordlessly, Quinn shakes his head, and then clears his throat. “I--No.” He clears his throat. “I’m an idiot. Permission to kiss you, my lord?” 

“You don’t _have_ to ask,” she steps into him, her mouth teasingly close. “ _Malavai_.” 

The way she purrs his name sends shockwaves through him and Quinn grabs her around the waist and jerks her into him. He kisses her deep, hard, and when his hand drifts down the ridges on the small of her back to fondle her ass Fallon smiles against his lips. 

It has been _so long_. 

He pulls away, breathless and wide-eyed. “Now more than just duty and honor will be driving my work.” 

“ _Passion_ is the font of strength,” she tells him. 

“I’m growing open to the idea, my lord.” He kisses her again, teeth dragging across her lower lip. 

Fallon pins him to the wall, one of her long legs between both of his, her thigh pressed tight to him so she can feel the smallest twitch in his trousers. She kisses along his jaw and nips at his neck, earning a sharp gasp. 

“I _want_ to fuck you, Malavai,” she says softly. “But I can feel your conflict.” She kisses his mouth. “And I already told you, there’s no hurry.” 

He exhales hard and smiles, earnestly smiles, at her. “I’ll return to my chambers, my lord.” 

#

There is a _freedom_ after that conversation. He notices it first the next morning when he sits to read and drink his caff. Fallon’s hand lingers on his shoulder as she leans over the table to select a piece of fresh fruit. Her hand moves to the back of his neck and then discreetly up into his hair to give a short, sharp tug that makes his toes curl. 

But instead of clearing his throat and looking down when she pulls away, Quinn catches her hand and lifts her knuckles to his mouth. He is careful, he is certain that no one sees, but Fallon rewards him with a smile and a squeeze of her hand. 

Small steps, but he has never felt more alive. 

It is a mistake, of that much he’s certain. Everything will be worse when it _does_ come to a head _because_ of these little indulgences. But Fallon’s nails in his hair set his scalp tingling, and he doesn’t think he could pull away now even if he wanted to. 

He will be careful and not let things progress any farther. 

Even as he thinks it, it feels like a lie.


	19. It All Come Crumbling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baras tries to blow them up

Darth Baras, true to his word, does _not_ remain idle long. Their brief vacation on Dromund Kaas feels to Quinn like something akin to a pleasant dream. He never kisses her in front of anyone, but more than once he is pinned beneath her on the sofa, tasting her lipstick and trying desperately to press his hips up onto hers. His days are full of music and the chattering of a full household. He find he enjoys it. Listening to Vette and Pierce argue or Fallon and Jaesa discuss deeper mysteries of the Force. His life has been barracks and outposts since he was old enough to enlist, the comforts of a _home_ feel surreal, but marvelous. 

It ends when Baras orders them back to Quesh and Quinn follows Fallon down from the Orbital station to meet with Commander Ollien at one of the Quell mines. He settles on the speeder behind her, hands on her hips and sitting respectfully back before a small, sharp smile curves over his mouth, barely visible. He slides forward and grips her more tightly and earns for his troubles a small, dark chuckle that sets fire to his blood. 

Her eyes are bright as Ollien gives her the rough coordinates of a Republic assault squad and some caverns beneath the command center. War suits her as though it was home. She responds fluidly to the burdens of command, to death, the violence. Quinn adores it, the link of something _familiar_ between them. 

He settles behind her on the speeder and resists the urge to kiss her neck by inches. The distraction is worrisome, but pleasant. He can indulge himself a little, just a little bit longer. 

#

The Republic Captain is the usual bluster about how he’s ready to detonate even if it means they all die. Quinn can’t help but admire Fallon’s stoicism, the way she seems to _dare_ the Captain to do it. 

And he does. 

And the detonator doesn’t work. 

And Fallon laughs and smiles and slaughters them all.

When her come buzzes and the small holo of Lord Draahg appears in her palm, Quinn’s stomach twists. Baras’s other apprentice is all smiles, but rather than the almost sycophantic tone he’d taken with her in Vengean’s Sanctum, his every word drips with sarcasm. 

“Well well well. Well done. Mission accomplished, eh?” 

“Yes, the threat is handled.” Her eyes narrow. 

Draahg’s smile widens. “There never _was_ a threat, Friend. Captain Trey-yen was sent here by one of Baras’s Republic moles. The explosives were never wired to _his_ detonator.” Draahg produces a thin cylinder. “ _I_ have the real detonator. An elaborate trap for _you_.” 

Quinn goes still. Half of him is amazed at Baras’s tactical expertise, using an Imperial Command post as _bait_ for Fallon, knowing she’d answer the call. A part of him is furious that he --and possibly the Imperial base-- will be caught in the blast, but there was no way Baras could have known _that_ and surely, one tool is worth sacrificing in the death of so brilliant an . . . adversary. 

He turns his gaze to her, trying to commit every black lock of hair to memory, every skin cell. If they survive everything will change. He doesn’t want to die. He wasn’t want _her_ to die. 

“So,” Fallon looks bored, as though this is expected. “Baras is stabbing me in the back.” 

“Our Master prides himself on being one step ahead of everyone, and that includes you. He knew that someday you would rise against him.” Draahg smiles. “You were his fiercest, I consider it a privilege he’s allowing me to pull the trigger.” 

“You know he’ll do this to you, don’t you?” She raises her brow, more annoyed than truly angry. 

“You let _me_ worry about that.” Draahg’s thumb hovers over the trigger mechanism. “Baras sends his regards, _goodbye._ ” 

His thumb depresses the detonator and Fallon sweeps her arm out. Invisible wires wrap around Quinn as she jerks him in and close to her, diving for safety. She doesn’t quite shelter him with her body but she ensures that he’s beside her, as close to _safe_ as possible. 

#

He comes too later and sees her half buried. Baras wants her dead. It would be easy to finish her here and now. He has his blaster. He’s never been squeamish about using it, regardless of whether the target was unarmed. 

But he can’t do it. He won’t murder _her_ while she’s helpless. She deserves better. He hopes someone _else_ will be tasked with her end.

He wishes he had _transferred_ but even if he’d had the foresight, Baras would never have let him. This was a possibilty the moment he left Balmorra aboard _The Fury_. Quinn has no one to blame but himself for the emotional difficulties. He clears the rubble away and surveys her wounds, she took the worst of the blast, burn marks everywhere, bruised and bloodied from the collapse. He administers a medpac and a kolto shot as she wakes. 

Fallon pushes herself upright and wipes the blood off her mouth. “The command post,” she says, shrugging off her ruined jacket. “Can you walk?” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

#

They return to the Command Center and Quinn is _relieved_ to see it intact, relieved and trying _very hard_ not to be surprised because _surely_ Baras would not have sacrificed the Empire’s operation on Quesh just to kill one woman. 

But the doubt was there, and that bodes poorly. 

Fallon walks like a woman possessed, limping and furious as she bypasses Commander Ollien _entirely_ and heads into the small building at his side. Quinn stays close, curious, and hangs back by the door when Fallon is met by two red sith, one hooded and one not. 

She narrows her eyes at the one with his head bare and _that_ is the one who speaks. “We are impressed. You are worthy to be the Emperor’s Wrath.” 

“My patience has been run _incredibly_ thin,” Fallon snaps. “I suggest an explanation.” 

“We are your ally, friend.” The hoodless sith responds. “I am Servant One; this is Servant Two. We are the Emperor’s Hand. The Dark Council runs blind. We alone oversee the Emperor’s Will in the Galaxy.” 

Fallon takes a deep breath, the action clearly painful, and then exhales. “You honor me.” 

“We sampled the Wrath some time ago,” the hooded servant, Servant Two, says. 

“The Emperor tasks The Hand with a great undertaking, and you are to become his Wrath. Darth Baras seizes power against the Emperor’s wishes, he must be stopped.” 

Fallon snorts. “Seeing as he very nearly blew up myself and Captain Quinn, consider me in agreement.”

“The betrayer has motivated the Wrath,” Servant Two observes. 

Servant One nods at this and folds his hands in front of him. “Since the Treaty of Coruscant, the Emperor has withdrawn from the known Galaxy, preparing for a great calling. Darth Baras learned of this and now claims the Emperor speaks through him. If the Dark Council declares him Voice of the Emperor, he will have supreme power over the Empire.” 

“Where is the True Voice?” Fallon asks, apparently familiar with the title. 

“The True Voice has been silenced,” Servant Two laments. 

“And in its absence, there is nothing to deny Baras’s claim. Some of them truly believe; others see an advantage in supporting him; and Baras plots against those who oppose him.” 

“I’ll say this,” Fallon shakes her head and sets her hands on her hips, wincing and frustrated, “Baras certainly sets his sights on the top. We must support his enemies, his power base is to vast for me to simply go after him and his true talent is binding the brilliant to his whims.” 

“Eventually,” Servant One says. 

“The Wrath must build before reaching pitch.” Servant Two’s eyes flit to Quinn, through Quinn, and he feels his stomach twist. But the hooded sith’s gaze returns, just as piercing, to Fallon. 

“Your crew awaits you at your ship,” Servant One gestures to the door. “They have been informed of these developments. Baras means to force the Council to bow, but he believes you dead. _That_ is our advantage.” 

Fallon nods and leaves, Quinn on her heels. 

Outside, and in a low voice, Fallon asks. “Are you alright?” She doesn’t look at him, busying herself with the speeder that will take them home. 

“Talking hurts my ribs, my lord,” he deflects. It’s not a question he can or wants to answer. 

“Rest when we return to the ship. I’ll need you at your peak.” 

“You’ll have it, my lord.” 

She doesn’t press further and takes the speeder at an even pace. Quinn lets his forehead touch one of her bruised red shoulders as they move, and exhales very slowly. 

#

Aboard _the Fury_ , Fallon is immediately fawned over. Jaesa hands her a kolto, snarling about how she longs to soak her feet in Baras’s open chest cavity in payment for this insult. It doesn’t _feel_ like hyperbole. Fallon strokes Jaesa’s hair and rewards her with a sharp smile. “Patience, my Apprentice, let your fury _build_ so you can release its full might when the time comes.” 

“Are you alright?” Vette asks, hovers over the back of the couch. “You look rough.” 

“We were caught in an explosion. But Baras thinks we’re dead, that gives us at least a brief advantage.” She frowns. “It won’t last.” 

“Pah,” Pierce tosses one hand. “Never cared for Old Man Baras anyway.” He says it while glaring at Quinn. 

“We climb closer to ultimate power, Master.” Jaesa’s eyes glow. 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Vette rubs the back of her neck. “Those hand weirdos sorta creep me out.” 

Broonmark buzzes angrily-but-affirmatively, aching for blood.

Fallon’s eyes meet Quinn’s, and her mouth hardens to a line, but her eyes are worried and pale, not their usual vibrant gold. “Everything has changed. My old master is our new enemy.” 

“Great, I’ll update my scorecard.” Vette leans in and gives Fallon a gentle headbutt. “I’m glad you didn’t blow up.” 

“Thank you, Vette.” Fallon takes her eyes off Quinn to smile at her. “I hope your adjustments to the engines are paying off.” 

“You bet they are.” Vette grins. “I’m _great_ at this.” 

“Excellent. Jaesa? Would you make tea before we withdraw to the training room.” 

“Is that a--”

Fallon silences Vette with a glance. “Even like this, I am more than a match for most. Jaesa’s training is important, it will continue uninterrupted.” 

Quinn returns to the helm and intercepts a message. _Broysc_. He exhales through his nose as the Moff begins to rant, referring to him as _Admiral Malcontent_ and demanding that he return to Balmorra _at once_ as he is in direct opposition to Broysc’s orders. 

Quinn stares at the holo as it goes dark. 

Because this is _exactly_ what he needs. 


	20. We all Belsawthis coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn reports to Baras, The Hand sends the gang to Belsavis

At least some _good_ news comes through in amidst the nonsensical recordings from Broysc. Quinn can’t help the fluttering pride when he opens his messages and sees that he’s passed the trials for Captain, second grade. After ten years stuck as a lieutenant with every avenue of relocation _or_ promotion blocked, seeing in writing that he’s moving up the ranks is a feeling he’d forgotten how to prepare for. 

There is the one small hurdle: it requires the approval of his CO to go into effect and that _should_ be Baras. But it _isn’t_ and he still hasn’t commed Baras to say that he, and more importantly _Fallon_ , has survived. He _should._ He _will_. He’s just . . . bidding his time. 

So he waits for Fallon to visit him in the cockpit, as she often does. He rises out of the chair when he hears her familiar footfalls behind him and turns to salute. “My lord,” he says trying to keep the pride in his voice down to a professional level. “I’ve just been informed that I have passed the trials for Captain, second grade.” 

“Congratulations, Captain.” Fallon’s eyes warm and her mouth twitches with a smile. “It’s well deserved.” 

“Thank you, my lord.” He clears his throat. “I don’t seek acknowledgement; it requires your approval to go through.” 

She nods. “Consider it done. I’ll have that sent to Dromund Kaas within the hour.” 

“Very good, my lord.” He inclines his head and turns to settle back in his seat. 

Fallon sets one hand on his shoulder and he thinks she’s about to say something, but she doesn’t and he keeps his eyes forward until he hears her exit to cockpit. 

#

They dock with Belsavis’s orbital station and Fallon gives Pierce a nod when the holoterminal beeps and Servants One and Two flicker into place. 

“Wrath,” Servant One says. “Belsavis has been the Republic’s best kept secret, hidden even from the Hand.” 

“The disappeared, reappear,” Servant Two chimes in, possibly helpfully, possibly not. Quinn isn’t quite sure what to make of him. 

“The planet has been a prison for the galaxy’s most dangerous criminals and many presumed-dead Sith Agents,” Servant One offers as clarification. 

“It houses the blood of the betrayer.” Servant Two says. 

Fallon nods as though this makes sense (it doesn’t) and then patiently waits for Servant One to elaborate. She has her hands behind her back, attentive but not submissive. 

“When the prison manifests were leaked, Darth Baras discovered that his sister, Darth Ekkage, was alive and imprisoned there.” 

“The _blood_ of the _betrayer_.” Servant Two repeats more earnestly.

“Darth Ekkage was a member of the Dark Council and leader of the Sith infiltrators. If she is reunited with Baras, many more will bow to him.”

“Well, sounds like she has to die then,” Fallon says with a small shrug. “Jaesa, I want your company for this.” 

Quinn keeps his expression clear, but this development changes things. He _must_ tell Darth Baras and he will only have the opportunity while Fallon is off the ship with Jaesa. They’ll see through him otherwise, Fallon will sense his discomfort and she is the more _gentle_ option. Jaesa delights in ripping things apart and he doubts she would make an exception for his psyche. 

#

He salutes as the Sith depart and then returns to the cockpit. The hours pass and he moves to the Refresher, closing the door behind him and producing his personal holocom. He exhales and straightens, the picture of professionalism, when Baras flickers into view. 

“My lord,” Quinn gives a stiff bow. “I’m reporting in with an update.” 

“Ah, Captain.” Baras’s tone is pleased but in being so gives away _nothing_ about his actual mood. “I’m pleased you survived.” 

“Yes, my lord.” Quinn inclines his head. “I’m calling to report that Lord Fallon Noicrothatch has also survived.” 

Baras is silent for a moment. 

“We are currently in Orbit around Belsavis. Lord Fallon and Jaesa Willsaam have gone down to the surface.” 

“Do you know what they intend to do there?” 

To his horror, Quinn considers lying. He _can’t_ , of course, Baras will know and more importantly he is _loyal_ to Baras. Baras saved his career from becoming _nothing_ and he is _nothing_ if he is not his career. But he thinks about it, and he thinks about it for _her_. “I believe that are looking for Darth Ekkage, my lord,” he replies. 

“Tell me, Captain, does my former apprentice suspect your loyalties?” 

“I do not believe so, my lord.” Quinn keeps from wincing as he says it. “She has made overtures of trust that appear genuine.” 

“Good. Very good. You will remain in position, the knife in her back if I need it.” 

_When_ he needs it.

This time, Quinn is silent for a moment, and Baras laughs.

“Having second thoughts, Captain?” the question is a trap. Quinn has _seen_ Baras kill from a distance. One false step, one false start, and Fallon will find his body on the floor of the refresher, his treachery revealed. 

“No, my lord.” Quinn says. “It will be done.” 

“Wait for my word, Captain.” Baras says. “And you will be rewarded when my former apprentice lies dead.” 

The holocom goes silent and Quinn grinds his teeth together. He strips off and steps into the refresher itself, turning the heat all the way up, as though the steam can blast away his discomfort and his crimes. He rubs his pale skin raw, leaving himself pink and shiny and _sore_ and not feeling any better for it. Quinn rests his forehead against the wall as he fiddles with the nob that stops the steam and lets the cold set in, water condensing on the plastiglass and in his hair to drip down his nose. He is 40. It’s unseemly to be so affected.

There’s no choice. This is his duty and it’s something he’s been prepared for since Baras assigned him to _the Fury_ on Balmorra. 

#

Fallon and Jaesa return successfully, Jaesa in a huff about Fallon sparing the life of some Jedi and Fallon silencing her with a look and the reminder that _sometimes_ a Jedi must be drawn out of their comfort zone before they can be broken. A broken enemy is often _better_ than a dead one. 

Much like with the Jedi Nomen Kaar had sent after her, Quinn thinks. He wonders how she will break Baras. And then corrects himself. She will die by Baras’s command. And then he wants to vomit.

He takes comfort in Fallon’s blissful ignorance as to his inner turmoil when she has him contact the Hand and folds her hands behind her back, waiting until Servants One and Two flicker into being. 

“The Wrath ascends,” Servant Two says, sounding almost _giddy_.

“Darth Ekkage will _not_ be joining her brother,” Fallon crosses her arms under her breasts and lets her posture relax and little, chin held high. A touch of her old swagger back where it belongs. 

“Yes,” Servant One says with a nod. “With Baras’s sister silenced, our enemy grows angry. But he has other endeavors that must fail. The key Dark Council member who opposes Baras’s attempt to be named The Voice is Darth Vowrawn.” 

Quinn checks the name in his head. Vowrawn is one of the older Council members, powerful and in charge of the Sphere of Production and Logistics. He spares a glance at Fallon and sees her nod, familiar with the name.

“Vowrawn is spearheading the battle for Corellia and Baras secretly undermines his efforts. He hopes to orchestrate Vowrawn’s failure or death.” 

Quinn tenses and hears a snarl from Pierce on his right. Fallon’s voice is low and dark when she speaks. “He’s willing to risk losing Corellia?” 

“His personal goals override the war,” Servant One confirms. 

“I’ll kill him myself,” Pierce mutters. 

Fallon smirks a little. “That _would_ be interesting. However unlikely.” 

“A man can dream, my lord.” 

“And your ambition is a credit to you, Lieutenant.”

“The Pendulum swings with Vowrawn’s weight,” Servant Two’s eyes move to Quinn’s, but no one seems to notice or comment. It fills him with dread. 

He is loyal to Baras. He must be loyal to Baras. 

But is Baras _really_ willing to sacrifice the war effort for power? No, he must have a long term plan. Unite the Empire and _then_ crush the Republic. 

He tries to catch up with the conversation, having spent too long in his own thoughts, and catches _Griest_ , _Armageddon Battalion_ and _Hoth_. The General is well respected and the battalion feared, Quinn can’t be certain _why_ they’re on Hoth of all places. He should have been _listening_. 

“I will convince Griest to move the Battalion to Corellia where they’re actually fucking useful.” Fallon nods, the swear slipping gracefully from between her lips. 

Pierce rolls his shoulders so he’s standing even straighter and meets Fallon’s eyes with ease. “I served with General Griest for a time, my lord. As tough as they come and stubborn.” 

“I _doubt_ , Lieutenant, that his is tougher or more stubborn than I am,” Fallon replies, the hint of a smile on her mouth. 

“True enough, M’lord.” 

“Resistance cannot be accepted,” Servant One says. “Armageddon Battalion must be reassigned. Do whatever it takes to make that happen.” 

The holo goes dead. For a long moment it’s quiet, everyone absorbing the information in their own ways. Vette breaks the silence with a sigh. She rolls her eyes at Fallon. “ _Great_ , back to the deep freeze.” 

Quinn’s thoughts trip over themselves. Maybe Baras has Armageddon Battalion on Hoth to keep them in reserves, so that _after_ he crushes Vowrawn he can move in and mop over the Republic soldiers. It’s a risk, certainly, but it makes more sense--he _needs_ it to make more sense than Baras being willing to risk the war effort in its entirety. 

“Hoth is a big place, my lord,” he says when he notices Fallon’s eyes move to his. “It could take a long time to find Griest.” 

She shakes her head. “Slinte is Baras’s man there. He’ll know where to find Armageddon Battalion.” 

“Ah, yes.” He feels like an _idiot_ , hoping she would have forgotten about Slinte. “Excellent thinking, my lord.” Fallon’s expression closes off, narrowing slightly. He forces himself to look briefly confused and then forces his expression to clear. “Of course, Baras is rather tough on underlings. Assuming Slinte hasn’t been disposed of, he’s your best lead.” 

She nods. “Dismissed, all,” she says, “Quinn, a word?” 

“Of course, my lord.” He hopes he doesn’t sound or look nervous. But she knows, she knows and she’ll kill him for it. 

The rest of the crew go off and Fallon extends a hand and lightly cups his cheek. He wants to break. The softness is unbearable. Her thumb brushes his skin and then her hand slides up to his hairline, disrupting the well-maintained tresses. “I can not imagine how disappointing this must be for you, Quinn,” she tells him. “We will see it through together.”

“I serve you,” he reminds her, _hating_ the lie on his tongue. “Willingly and Eagerly, my lord.” 

“Good,” She tells him. Fallon is taller than him, not by a lot and it rarely makes a difference, but when she leans in and kisses him he feels so small. He freezes, thinking about the lie that’s fallen out of his mouth and wondering if she can taste it. But he kisses her back, slow and soft and when she pulls away he wonders how torn a man can feel before he finally rips in two. 


	21. Sure is Broysc In Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draagh threatens the crew when they reach Hoth, Fallon "meets" Broysc for the first time.

Broysc’s newest message implies that he’s _completely_ lost his mind. Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose and goes to find Fallon in her room. 

“My lord.” He gives her a small nod. “I’ve been dealing with a situation that’s getting out of hand.” 

Fallon unfolds herself elegantly from the couch and pads over to the doorway where he’s standing. “Oh?” She raises her brow curiously. “What sort of situation?”

“Moff _Broysc_ ,” he can’t keep the venom from the name and something about the way he spits it warms Fallon’s eyes, “contacted the ship and was _incensed_ to find me at the helm. He’s been sending recorded messages that are progressively more nonsensical.” 

“Really?” Fallon says, sounding almost amused. 

“He’s always been scattered and aggressive, but now he seems completely unhinged.” 

She folds her arms across her chest. “The next time he comes calling, I will speak with the man.” 

Quinn nods and clears his throat. He can just imagine what would happen if they were in a _room_ together. He would love to see her unleash her fury on the moff, dying his white uniform red ever so slowly with the painstaking care she can put into pain when she’s furious. “I would appreciate that, my lord.” He straightens, forcing himself to mean that as professionally as possible. “Tens of thousands of soldiers and some of our most critical campaigns are at the mercy of his commands.” 

And _there_ is the real problem. They are at _war_ , open war _,_ now. Broysc is no longer a weakness the Empire can afford to tolerate. His decade long grudge against Quinn seems to be the tip of an iceberg and _now_ is the time when the rot must be cut away. 

Fallon is quiet for a long moment. She tilts her head to one side and raises one scarlet knuckle to her chin in consideration, yellow eyes studying Quinn intently. 

“My Lord?” he shifts uncomfortably. 

“Private musings, Quinn. In any event, Broysc is a liability. I will see it dealt with.” 

“I find myself agreeing with you,” Quinn says out of habit. “I will keep you informed.” 

#

“We are heading to Hoth, my lord,” Quinn tells the tiny, flickering Baras in his palm. “Lord Fallon intends to reassign General Griest to Corellia.” He holds himself stiff as a board, voice low and the steam running behind him. 

“I will have Lord Draahg meet you there. She will think twice about interfering after he kills her crew. Ensure that you are not present, Quinn.” 

“My lord.” Quinn shakes his head. “If I may. I’ve studied her movements and her methods. If you injure, but do not kill the crew, you will stand a better chance. Fallon will react to their deaths with fury and vengeance, she is _tenacious_ , my lord. She will never stop hounding you. But if you remind her that they are vulnerable, you may get through.” 

He wonders if the pang in his stomach is indigestion or concern. He hopes it’s indigestion, learning that Jaesa or worse _Vette_ have wormed their way into his care would be functionally intolerable if they found out. 

“ _Fallon_?” Baras repeats the name with a cruel, mocking tone. “You are close to her?” 

“Yes, my lord.” There’s no point in lying about it.

“Very well, Quinn. The crew will be spared, for now.” 

Quinn inclines his head. He has bought time, and nothing else. With luck, he will be able to persuade Jaesa at least to swear to Baras when Fallon is dead. Vette will be collared, but perhaps he can keep her. Perhaps he will be able to mitigate this betrayal by defending Fallon’s legacy. 

He looks into the mirror and thinks of better days. Days when he didn’t _care_. 

More likely, Fallon will discover his betrayal and then he can only hope she makes his death _quick_ and _reasonably_ painless. It is not a cheerful thought, but it’s the only one he has. 

#

They dock with the Adamas Space Station and Fallon dresses in her thermals, the wampa-fur hood lying down on her shoulders. Pierce is dressed to match, tall and overbearing and Quinn _hates_ that volunteering to go himself would be suspicious. 

The doubt is there, the question. Does _she_ suspect? Has she told Jaesa or Vette or Pierce or Broonmark to watch him? 

She steals a kiss before she leaves, leaning over his chair in the cockpit and tilting his face up to hers to drink him in. “Be safe,” he mutters against his better judgement as she pulls away. “I’d hate to lose you."

“You won’t,” she gives him a sharp smile and takes another kiss. “Resupply while we’re gone.” 

“My Lord.” 

#

While he waits for Draahg or for Fallon, Quinn receives no fewer than eight holo transmissions from Moff Broysc. He stares at the third one in disbelief and resolves that, assuming Fallon survives her encounter with Draahg (and he _wants_ her too and he feels terrible for it) he’ll have to bring this to her attention. 

Jaesa feels Draahg a full five minutes before the airlock door is forced open. Quinn joins the others in trying to fight him off, but no matter how many times Jaesa’s lightsaber goes through him, the monster will not stop. Quinn shoots him, catching him in the throat and Draahg’s eyes glow with rage. 

He reaches out and _squeezes_. Quinn levitated off the ground, clawing for his throat as the world starts to swim. He remembers Alderaan, how Fallon had dealt with the Duke and the General’s lover. Will _Fallon_ be as distracted as Giselle had become by his injuries? 

Blackness is a reprieve. 

#

Quinn wakes up in his bed, wearing his underclothes with bandages on all of his cuts. Wincing, he dresses and heads for the lounge where Fallon and Pierce are sitting speaking in low tones. For her part, Fallon looks the least kempt he’s ever seen her. Her hair is undone, stray black strands in her tired eyes. Pierce has set a cup in front of her. 

“Broonmark’ll pull through,” Pierce assures her. “The Talz is a tough son of a bitch. Still had Draahg’s blood on his claws.” 

Fallon smiles weakly. “And Jaesa did more than a share of damage herself. I’m relieved she’s up already.” 

“Vette’ll wake up soon, my lord.”

Fallon nods, distracted and when her head moves the light shines on dark purple bruises along her neck. She looks up and catches eyes with Quinn. Wordlessly she rises from the couch and crosses the room to him, touching his cheeks and carding her fingers through his hair with such tenderness that Quinn’s eyes roll closed in contentment. She doesn’t seem to care that they’re not alone, and he _wants to_ but he’s woozy and her hands are cold and soothing.

“I have never been so scared,” she confesses. “Baras will pay for this.” She kisses his forehead. “I thought I’d lost you.” 

He feels like he’s going to vomit, but Fallon seems to attribute his wince to pain. 

“Rest more. Pierce is a capable pilot and I need you at your best.”

“I’m fit, my lord,” Quinn straightens. “What’s our heading?” 

“Voss,” Fallon says. She doesn’t question his fitness when he asserts it. Doesn’t correct him for correcting her. “Coordinates have been added to the galaxy map.” She shakes her head. “Everyone is going to need another few days to recover.” 

She exhales. “I’m going to go check on Vette. Pierce?” 

He salutes when addressed. 

“Tell Jaesa we’ll be having tea in my quarters, a little late.” 

“Sir.” 

#

During the next two days, Broysc sends no fewer than _fifteen_ separate messages and Quinn finally sighs and goes to find Fallon when the last one is actually live. Broysc, older, thinner, apparently less stable, continues ranting even as Quinn leaves. 

He finds Fallon leaning against the wall in the cargo bay, listening Broonmark’s near-musical buzzing as he tells her about his time with the Republic. She’s smiling. It’s a wonderful sight.

“My lord?” 

“Quinn.” Fallon turns. “Did you need something?” 

“Moff Broyc’s holo transmissions have increased. They are beginning to disrupt operations.” He shrugs. “He’s nearly incoherent--I can only _assume_ some sort of dementia has set in. I have him on holo _right now_.” Quinn straightens, hands behind his back. “I believe it’s going to take your personal touch to assuage the situation.” 

“Of course.” Fallon says easily. “Broonmark, we’ll pick this up later.” 

Broonmark gives an affirmative buzz.

She follows him out to the lounge where Moff Broysc is _still_ ranting. Vette’s appeared, still bandaged but up and about. She perches out of the way on the back of the couch with a piece of fruit. Pierce watches curiously from the doorway. 

“Here he is,” Quinn says, wishing he could _do away_ with their audience and knowing full well that even if Fallon let him, they’d be lingering just out of sight.

“--flew the coop! Your new cage will be smaller and tighter! Coffin-sized. _Urn-_ sized! In a Locket I’ll wear around my neck!” 

“He’s . . . unlikely to stop, my lord,” Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a nauseating wave of second hand embarrassment. “He didn’t even know he was on hold.” 

“Druckenwell proved my point!” Broysc howls. “My glory is mine! MINE! You’re _nobody.”_

“He’s absolutely mad,” Fallon blinks, the smallest trace of a smile in her yellow eyes. “Though there’s something almost _romantic_ about wearing someone in a locket around the neck.” 

Pierce snorts from his corner. 

“I would . . . rather not think about that, my lord.” Quinn huffs, but his embarrassment starts to flicker away. She’s clearly not judging _him_ about it. “As I said.” 

“Where’s my blaster! I’ll shoot your face! Personally! And Again! Druckenwell won’t save you! I could blow Balmorra away! I’ll blow Balmorra away this time.” 

“You made an impression.” Fallon tilts her head. “I’m impressed.” 

“Thank you, my lord.” 

“Wait! What? Gone!” Broysc stops and glares at Fallon as though noticing her for the first time. “Where’d he--there’s a sith on this! Why did you transfer me, Rodjnik? I’ll ship _you_ off to Balmorra too.” 

“Rodjnik is his communications officer, my lord.” Quinn can’t help the pity in his voice. Poor Rodjnik. “This . . . is how it has been.” For _years_. 

“Rodjnik am I through? I’m through? Yes or no?” Broysc shouts. “I don’t see--is this broken? All I see is a sith.” 

“It’s rather like watching a space collision, you just can’t tear your eyes away.” Fallon says, blinking up at the holo. 

“Wait!” Broysc snaps. “Now I’m understanding this. It was you, Sith, _wasn’t it_? You _dared_ liberate the admiral! Have you lost your mind?”

“The admiral?” 

Quinn sighs. “He calls me _Admiral Malcontent_.” He frowns when she bites back a chuckle. “He seems to think that’s my actual rank and name.” 

“Don’t you know he’s the one that lost the Battle of Talay?” Broysc demanded. 

Fallon looked to Quinn. 

“Broysc’s earliest command.” He shrugs. “Before I was born.” 

“It was _his_ blunder that allowed the escaped Jedi targets to flee Taris before the bombardment!” 

“Ancient history,” Quinn gives her a tiny smile. “ _Broysc_ wasn’t even born.” 

“You are far better looking that Darth Malak was,” Fallon compliments, her smile as small and equally teasing as his. Quinn’s cheeks go just a little bit pink. 

“He sabotaged the Glory Space Station for crying out loud!” Broysc shouts, clearly irritated that he’s not being listened to. 

“I have no idea what that is,” Quinn shakes his head but the smile remains. Fallon chuckles warmly. 

“I hear him!” Broysc howls, pointing wildly. “He’s talking! His _insubordination_ is lethal! Paralyzing! It threatens the Empire and you do _nothing_!” 

“This is the man who blocked your every promotion for ten years?” Fallon turns to look at Quinn, and shakes her head when he nods. “You could have made Moff by now, you realize?” Something dark passes over her features, but she says nothing until she turns to look back at Broysc. “You need to be muzzled, old man,” she snaps at the holo. “Silenced before you do serious damage.” 

“You will not defy me!” Broysc growls. “Fight his disease, Sith!” The old man’s fingers twitch as he brings them up and clenches them into fists. “Save yourself and deliver him to me for execution! NOW! Are you _listening_?”

“I do not take the advice of mad men.” Fallon says coolly. 

“Then I accuse _you_ along with him,” Broysc snarls. Rodjnik! Cut transmission! I said cut it now!” 

The holo goes dead and for thirty seconds there is silence before Vette starts to giggle, rapidly joined by the deep, full chuckle from Pierce. Quinn is assaulted by laughter on both sides. Ignoring them as best he can, Quinn turns to offer Fallon an apologetic look. “With Broysc in command, The Empire is in critical danger.” 

She nods.

“I must implore High Command to do something about it.” 

“Any help I can offer is yours,” her eyes glow. “ _Admiral_.” 

Quinn sighs, but from _her_ , the infuriating nickname feels gentle and loving. “A prepared statement would be beneficial. Thank you.” He looks past her to Vette and narrows his eyes. “Satisfied?”

“Sure am, _Admiral Malcontent_. I suuuure am.” 


	22. Voss.jpg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn accompanies Fallon to Voss where a glowing voss mystic nearly outs him for treachery.

Fallon sets her hand on his shoulder as they dock on the Voss Orbital Station. “Come with me,” she says. 

“Of course, my lord.” 

She doesn’t elaborate, but she doesn’t _have_ to. Quinn stomach twists, even as he follows her through the umbilical and onto the station. He had been half-right in his assessment to Baras, Fallon’s fury would have been worse had Baras _killed_ anyone. But she was not dissuaded. She was more cautious, true, but also more driven. 

Had he _missed_ something? 

Is she suspicious?

Her hand settles on his knee as they sit down in the shuttle to the surface and his heart races. She has him fill her in on what he knows about Voss and The Voss. It’s unfortunately not much, an isolationist people with an odd view of the force, currently being courted as allies by both the Empire and the Republic. Lamentably, he can not give her more. 

Voss is beautiful. The palette, mostly warm tones due to the atmosphere and the time of day as they land, reminds him of Quesh but he can actually breath without needing an injection to keep the air from liquefying his insides. He and Fallon catch a taxi from Voss-Ka to Fort Kodentha--an Imperial Outpost--and walk from there, Fallon presumably following some sixth sense and Quinn following her. They keep to the path until they find a beacon. Fallon produces flint and lights the flame in silence. 

So much of her mirth is absent. The joyous fury she used to unleash upon her enemies. He _misses_ it. He aches to return her fierce smile to her mouth. 

Fallon lights the third beacon and waits. A sound, not a voice but a rush of air, pulls her attention behind her and she turns slowly, one hand out to keep Quinn behind her. 

Standing, calm and mostly translucent, is a glowing male voss. “Voss welcomes you, Outsider,” he says is a deep voice, devoid of emotion. “Why do you seek Madaga-Ru?” 

“He has knowledge I need.” 

“A worthy goal.” The specter gives an approving nod. “Madaga-Ru will meet you. The Location is revealed.” 

The wind moves again and the specter vanishes. Fallon shakes her head, like a dog trying to dislodge water and works her jaw, wrinkling her perfect nose. 

“Are you alright, my lord?” 

“Fine, Quinn.” She exhales. “I know where we’re going.”

#

She leads him to a cave filled with some of Voss’s hostile wildlife (huge blue and purple beasts and seem to be made almost exclusively of teeth) and begins carving her way through them. At the far end there’s a small camp site and the Voss who had appeared before them (in the flesh, no longer a glowing specter) waiting expectantly. “I am Madaga-Ru,” he says as they approach. “I appeared at the signal pyre, I appear here. I recognize you. Another came--of Voss but housing Darkness. Like you.” 

“Yes, and I need to know what you told him and where you sent him.” Fallon says with a 

deepening frown. 

“I caused no harm.” Madaga-Ru insists, shaking his head. “I aided his journey, as I can yours. On Voss, everything gained is paid for. You must share a secret, any secret will do.” 

Fallon shifts her weight and tenses her jaw and then she exhales and speaks. “On Belsavis I spared the life of a Jedi in return for his services.” 

“An admission is made,” Madaga-Ru says, “the act is payment.” 

“The one you seek forced me to help him unlock the secrets of Voss. I could not defy him.” Madaga-Ru touches his forehead and shudders, like he is trying to be rid of a headache or a bad dream. “He went to the Dark Heart chamber in the Nightmare Lands. You must follow.” 

“What _is_ this Dark Heart?” Fallon asks, holding her chin up. 

“The Dark Heart is ancient. Forbidden. The secrets of Voss are buried there. The denied truth.” Madaga-Run turns back, and meets Fallon’s eyes. “Your predecessor wrapped himself in the blessing of Oneness--without it an Outsider cannot even see the gateway to the Dark Heart. Vana-Xo can bestow the blessing in the shrine of healing. To find her, seek Fadith-Ki and complete the Voss trials.” 

“Tell me of this blessing.” 

“It makes visible the invisible,” Madaga-Ru says, mostly unhelpful. “Vana-Xo is the only healer trained in it.” He gestures to the cave entrance. “Off. Get the Blessing at the Shrine of Healing. I will guide when I can. Respect the Voss way, or the Dark Heart is denied.” 

They look to the cave entrance and back and Madaga-Ru has vanished. 

“What do you make of it, my lord?” Quinn asks. 

Fallon shrugs. “I am familiar with the ways of the Force, Quinn. There will be pain and sacrifice and in the end I will have what I seek.” 

He nods. 

#

The Shrine of Healing is something of a marvel and Quinn admits it freely. The Empire has been pushing for Voss to join the ranks since the planet’s discovery, but Quinn hadn’t given it any thought himself. He was busy, stationed on Balmorra dealing with Baras’s interests and the rebels and the damn colicoids. 

But he was _out_ now. And when Baras considered his debt paid in full, Quinn would be able to move and focus on higher goals. 

Vana-Xo is a healer on one of the upper layers of the Shrine of Healing and Quinn notices that, with her bright red skin and shining gold jewelry, Fallon looks more like she belongs than any other outsider and the Voss react to her as such. She is offered direction and small, polite, bows. _He_ is watched with suspicion and no one will make eye contact. 

Interesting. 

Vana-Xo spreads her hands over the body of an injured Voss and he glows with white light. When the light dies, he breathes more easily and Vana-Xo shakes, weeping. 

“I am not here to harm you,” Fallon says. 

“My pain prevents these ailments from worsening,” Vana-Xo says. She stands slowly, gracefully and turns, studying Fallon with pupil less blue eyes. “I heard your purpose, but you are not Voss. The Blessing bestows privileges. I hesitate--you cause my insides to _scream_.” 

Fallon raises her brow at that. “Indigestion, perhaps?” 

Vana-Xo chuckles. “Such humor eases my suspicions. Apologies, the Voss are leery of strangers. But to be granted the Blessing, a sacrifice must be made. To heal, I siphon strength from the able. Will you submit?” 

Quinn thinks about what she had said, about knowing there would be pain. Fallon looks at Vana-Xo, her gaze unwavering and nods. “If that’s the price, I will pay it.” She drops to her knees, somehow still defiant, and Quinn wants to jerk her back to standing. There’s no way to know how much of her strength this Voss will take. There’s no way to know if it’s safe or if Fallon will recover. 

It is a _foolish_ risk.

But there is nothing he can say and Fallon screams, her head thrown back in agony as Vana-Xo seems to reach into her without making physical contact. Light spills from Fallon’s chest and congeals in Vana-Xo’s hands, soaking through her skin until she is aglow and Fallon collapses backwards, her breathing erratic. 

Quinn drops beside her, pulling her head onto his lap to keep it elevated and tearing one of his gloves off to find the pulse point in her throat. Her pulse is quick, but not dangerous. Her breathing is ragged but even. 

She’ll be _fine_. 

He bends without thinking and presses a small kiss to her forehead. Turning just a _little_ pink when she opens her eyes and gives him a pained, breathless smirk. “Thank you, Captain. I think I’ll be alright.” 

She picks herself up and looks at Vana-Xo, the three Voss who had been suffering up and moving around. Vana-Xo smiles. “Your sacrifice heals the ailing. The Blessing of Oneness is earned.” Vana-Xo brings her hands together and they pulse with blue light. She inhales, draws back, and throws the light forward, into Fallon who jerks and hisses with pain as the blue sinks into her skin. 

“Oneness bestowed.” Vana-Xo pants. 

Fallon inclines her head respectfully and turns to leave, walking almost immediately into Madaga-Ru’s apparition. Quinn only half-listens, watching Fallon carefully, looking for weakness or fatigue, even a small limp. 

She seems fine, any discomfort well hidden. 

He manages to convince her to spend the evening recovering and requisitions a room for them at one of the Imperial Outposts _near_ where Fallon has been told to go. The Voss cuisine is strange, but not unpleasant, and Quinn tries not to think too hard about the pleasant atmosphere. About how it feels to share a meal, just the two of them. 

When they retire, Quinn moves for the couch and Fallon, shrugging off her jacket, gives him a bemused look. He tries not to focus on the ugly black scar on her shoulder, the thick lines of darkside corruption that had bound the bones back together. 

“Quinn,” she says with a small smile. “I am aware that you’re uncomfortable letting me fuck you at the moment, but really, you can sleep in the bed and we can keep our hands to ourselves.” 

“It would be inappropriate, my lord,” Quinn says, but he doesn’t set his jacket down.

“It will also be more comfortable for both of us.” 

He licks his lips and swallows and nods. “Yes, my lord.” He clears his throat. “I thought you were opposed to sharing your space with a man.” She’d said as much to Jaesa and Vette concerning Pierce. 

He remembers because she’d implied that she was more interested in _him_ than the Lieutenant. Back before he learned that Pierce wasn’t attracted to _anyone_.

Fallon gives a small laugh. “This doesn’t really count. _However_ , I believe what I said was that I won’t share my space for _long_ with a man _unless_ I find him fascinating in some fashion, Quinn. Do not quote me unless you remember to quote the whole thing. And yes, in case you’re fishing for compliments, I find you fascinating.”

“I’m overwhelmed, my lord.” 

He keeps his briefs and undershirt on, trying to distance himself as much as he can from the possibility of indulging. Fallon rolls her eyes, but says nothing. She removes her pants, revealing a pair of plain black panties that are all together too perfectly contrasted against her crimson skin, but she leaves her tube top on. When Quinn climbs into the bed there is an awkward moment where he’s not sure what to do with his limbs, but it doesn’t last for long as Fallon rolls onto her side, facing the wall and waves a hand to kill the light. 

Quinn lies on his back for a long moment and then rolls onto his side, pressed against her with his knees beneath hers. In the dark it’s easier to forget that he should be working on maintaining some distance. He kisses just behind her ear. “Goodnight, my lord.”

Her hand finds his and she laces her fingers between his and sets his palm on her stomach. “Goodnight, Quinn.” 

#

In the morning they share a single long kiss that leaves Quinn’s heart thundering before setting off for the camp of one Biddeck-Va, who Fallon explains has the key they need to enter the Dark Heart. She frowns and pins her hair up into place. “I dislike having to use this much _tact_ while in a hurry,” she confides. “But the Force is _strange_ here and I will not risk our mission on my temper.” 

At Biddeck-Va’s camp they are met with disrespect, but Fallon keeps a leash on her temper because Biddeck-Va _himself_ is not present and she needs his key. She decides, her jaw so tense that Quinn’s aches just looking at her, to slaughter the Gormak Chieftains herself and speed the process along. 

The chieftains fall before them and Quinn catches a small smile on Fallon’s mouth and he wants to hope that it has something to do with last night. He doesn’t ask, and instead follows her dutifully from the battlefield back to Biddeck-Va’s camp.

_This time_ , Biddeck-Va is there, looking surprised. He inclines his head to Fallon. “You killed the Gormak chieftains.” 

She nods. 

“You want my talisman, why?” 

“It will open the door in The Dark Heart,” she says with a deepening frown. 

“The Bone gives me no advantage, To profit from it is good. I will award it for a price.” He nods and Quinn wonders if he’s truly brave or simply ignorant of what he’s up against. “You kill the enemy chieftains, but the Gormack Warmaster still lives. Defeat him. The Talisman will be yours.” 

“A price,” Fallon says, the hint of a sigh in her words. “This whole damn planet. Very well, Voss. For your talisman, I will kill the Gormack Warmaster.”

Biddeck-Va nods. “You will receive the talisman when the warmaster is dead.” 

As they exit the cave Fallon offers Quinn an irritated smile, sharp at the corners and failing to meet her eyes. “Keep the Voss way or the Dark Heart is denied,” she says with an annoyed growl. “I’m not cut out for restraint, Captain. I don’t know _how_ you do it.” 

“With increasing difficulty, my lord.” He returns her mirthless smile with a tiny genuine one of his own. 

_It will all be over soon._

They return to Biddeck-Va and take his pendant when the Warmaster is dead. Fallon looks up before the voice speaks and Quinn watches as Madaga-Ru re-materializes in gold before her. “You now possess the Blessing of Oneness and The Pendant of Bone,” Madaga-Ru says. “I have guided you, now I request your help.” 

Fallon crosses her arms, the leather thong of the necklace woven between her fingers. She gives him a skeptical look. 

“I need to live in your skin. Seize control of you. You will be unchanged and not feel a thing.” 

“Why?”

“You cannot know, but I will pay you for your services.” 

Quinn snorts and rolls his eyes. There’s no _chance_ she will agree to this. 

“Agree to this,” Madaga-Ru urges. “I only require your body for a few moments.” 

“I can always use another favor,” Fallon says with a small nod. She lifts her chin and opens her arms. The shimmering gold spectre of Madaga-Ru steps into her, his face tilted down and it almost looks like they’re going to kiss but her passes into and through her. 

Fallon shakes and stretches, she rolls her neck from side to side and then looks down at her hands. She sits down as though meditating and power rolls off of her in waves, the ground shakes beneath her. Red-black miasma swirls around her, obscuring her glowing gold eyes from view. 

And then it dissipates. She stands and Madaga-Ru steps out of her. 

“It is done,” he says. 

“That was _different_ ,” Fallon says, rolling her shoulders. 

“When your journey is at a close, you will see me again. And I will bear a gift. The Blessing shows the door to the Dark Heart chamber; the Pendant unlocks it. To access the Dark Heart, see Murbeck Gehn in the Nightmare Lands. He is one of your kind.” 

“You’ve been most helpful.” 

“Are you alright, my lord?” Quinn asks when he is fairly certain they’re alone.

She nods. “I feel well rested, Quinn, as though awakening from a deep sleep.” She chuckles darkly. “A little _sore_ in some places, so more like awakening from a deep sleep after an _interesting_ evening.” 

Quinn has no idea what to say to that. 

And that was probably the point. 

#

_Everything_ about The Dark Heart feels wrong. There is an unnatural atmosphere that sits heavy over the ruins and makes it hard to breathe. Fallon pauses outside the door and turns, she clips her lightsabers to her belt briefly and takes Quinn’s cheeks in her palms. “Stay by my side, Quinn, unless I command you elsewhere.” She leans in and brushes her mouth teasingly close to his, moving just out of reach before he can kiss her. “Focus on _that_ ,” she commands as she does it again. She steps into him, arching against him with the long, firm line of her body. Her tongue touches his mouth, inviting him to kiss her back. Quinn’s hands move to her hips on instinct, he feels his cock twitch with desire.

Fallon pulls away abruptly. “Let thwarted desire reign more than terror.” 

“I believe I can manage that, my lord.” He tries to sound professional, but the words are edged. 

“Good. I thought as much. Stay close.” 

His eyes drop down to her ass as she turns and ignites her lightsabers. She had _commanded_ him to focus on his longing, after all. It is very nearly _freeing_. 

Moreover, it is a much needed distraction from the external terror that presses artificially down on him. She pauses at one point and removes the necklace from her pocket. Quinn watches as she presses it forward and the necklace vanishes. 

A door opens and the air shakes. He can’t hear anything, but Fallon throws her head back and says, as though speaking to someone. “I do not scare easily.” 

She steps through the door. “Quinn, remain here, whatever you hear.” 

“I--yes, my lord.” 

He turns, back to the door and draws his blaster, ready to defend from whatever comes. 

His holocom buzzes and Quinn looks behind him to ensure he is alone before he fishes it out and watches Lord Draahg flicker into being in his palm, scarred and have cybernetic but _very_ much alive. “It’s time, Quinn.” He says. “She has interfered enough.” 

Quinn’s heart drops. “Yes, my lord. I will send what I need tonight. It will be done.” 

The holocom goes dead and Quinn looks back over his shoulder. 

Fallon returns looking singed and bruised but victorious. Her eyes are clear, however, and her posture straight. “It’s done,” she tells him. “The Emperor is free. Let’s return to the ship.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

#

Madaga-Ru’s spectre appears on the walk to the airlock, stopping in front of Fallon and offering her a respectful bow. “I come to pay for what I took. Knowledge and a warning. The Dark Heart is Sel-Makor’s prison. I exist to prevent his escape.” 

Fallon nods as though the name means something to her. It means nothing to Quinn.

“Through you, I know how to banish Sel-Makor forever.” 

“Having met him, I have to say I approve.” Fallon offers a small smile. “He’s got _quite_ a temper.” 

“If Sel-Makor escapes, all existence is doomed. _Voss demands payment_. You helped, I grant you this secret--be warned, one of your own plots to betray you.” 

Quinn remains still, almost expressionless and grateful that he’s standing _behind_ her. 

“Tell me who,” Fallon says, her voice low and sharp, like a knife being pulled along a wet stone. 

“The vision ends,” Madaga-Ru shakes his head. “You must be the interpreter. Voss bids you farewell.”

He vanishes and Quinn remembers how to breathe. 

“We should discuss this with the others, my lord,” Quinn says. “Or perhaps keep it to ourselves. It is your decision.” 

She exhales. “I will tell them when it’s time. The Hand always takes a few days to contact us, I need to think.” 

There’s tension in her shoulders he can’t account for and all he can wonder is _does she suspect it’s me_? 

She must. Pierce is a blunt object, Broonmark is a beast, Vette is too loyal. Jaesa, perhaps, but Jaesa’s devotion has been secured through affection and indulgence. 

But then, hasn’t _his_? He recalls every touch of her lips to his, every brush of her hand over his jacket, her soft breathing in the night. 

She must be lost and hurting and cornered. More dangerous than ever but _only_ once she figures out where to strike. 

And he will have to strike first. 


	23. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn beats a man to death with his bare hands and then finally fucks the woman of his dreams.

The letter he receives from High Command is almost a welcoming distraction from everything else, even as disappointing as it is. Fallon appears in the doorway behind him as he knocks his head back against the seat, frustration finally getting the worst of him. 

“Is there news from High Command?” She asks, leaning over the chair. Her eyes are warm, a sweet burnished orange when they peer down at him. Feasting off his heightened emotion. She smiles almost teasingly. “How are your efforts going?” 

“Not well, my lord.” Quinn forces his posture to remain rigid. “I’ve gone as high up the chain as I can. No one will confront Moff Broysc. He’s too powerful and too entrenched.” Quinn moves out of the chair, Fallon straightening behind him. He looks at the floor and puts his hands on his hips, one foot tapping impatiently. 

She has been terrible for his discipline.

“He will serve until he is killed or he willingly steps down.” He looks up and meets her eyes. “And he will never willingly step down.” 

She nods in agreement, the orange in her eyes burning to more of a red and the curve of her mouth warming. It feels like an age since he’s seen her smile with vicious glee. He has missed it. “It certainly seems that way.” 

“It seems clear.” Quinn straightens, chest out, shoulders back, the picture of military discipline. “I must deal with Broysc myself. Once and for all.” 

Fallon nods. “I’m glad you’re willing to do what must be done. You have my support, backing and shuttle.” She gestures over her shoulder in the vague direction of the shuttle hangar. “Get to it.” 

Quinn snaps a sharp salute, chest swelling with pride and he can almost forget everything horrible going on. “I am ready, my lord.” 

“I know.” 

#

He finds Moff Broysc with ease for two reasons. Firstly, Rodjnik owes him a favor and, secondly, because Rodjnik almost certainly hates Broysc more than anyone else. He sends the location on an encrypted channel with a short letter thanking Quinn for rescuing Major Ovech and requested that he “make the bugger bleed.”

With Broysc removed, Ovech, Rodjnik and a number of other deserving Imperials will need a commanding officer worth following. He makes a note to inform Baras. Ovech would certainly be more use than someone like Pierce. 

He slips into Broysc’s chambers on a hutt pleasure barge, holding a sedative in one hand and using the other to signal the dancing girl to stay still as stone and silent. He’ll shoot her if he must, but better that his all goes quietly. He hefts the unconscious Moff back to the shuttle himself, binding and gagging him so that even once he regains consciousness all Quinn has to listen to is enraged humming. 

He resists, by inches, the urge to kick Broysc soundly in the ribs. Just once. As payback. 

To drown out the furious, muffled shouts as Broysc awakens, Quinn throws on his favorite opera, Jen Saarajikut, and lets the high arias of the third movement sweep him away, revealing in his victory and Shot Kunne’s defeat as one sweet moment. He reaches the ship as Moxzae’s heavy alto beckons the broken jedi into her arms, eager to reforge her into something stronger. 

Quinn marches Moff Broysc to the lounge where Fallon is reading, listening to a piece of music he doesn’t recognize and sipping her caf idly.  
He clears his throat for her attention. 

Fallon raises her eyes to him and then notes the bound man at his side. Her mouth moves to a smile. “Welcome back, Captain.” 

“My lord, I’m pleased to report that my mission was a success.” He gestures to the Moff and follows Fallon’s eyes to where Broysc is trying to work the gag out of his mouth. “I found Moff Broysc on a pleasure barge.” He lets his lips curl to a snarl. “On R & R while countless battles are raging. Despicable!” He breathes some of the fire out of his lungs. “I abducted him and brought him here to present to y--.”

“Scab!” Broysc screams. There’s a crash and a high yelp from the engine room. “Traitor!” 

“Fallon, what the--” Vette cuts herself off with a loud. “Ooooohhh. It’s fine, Pierce! Malcontent just nabbed Moff Mouth!” 

“You! Sith!” Broysc’s eyes fix on Fallon. “I commandeer your ship, your crew! I commandeer you! Mine now.” 

Fallon’s brow raises skeptically and she holds up a hand, signalling Pierce to stand down as he comes barreling out of the Engine room just behind Vette. “Do you see you has bested you, Broysc?” Fallon asks, her voice low and venomous. “The man you have wronged again and again.” Her legs move, unfolding as she draws herself to standing. “Look on Captain Quinn, mad man, acknowledge your defeat.” 

Broysc keeps his eyes on her, rather than obey. “No. Never. Not possible. I shunned him. I exiled him. He was to waste away.” 

And he almost did. Quinn thinks of the ten years he spent languishing on Balmorra. Ten years stuck as a lieutenant, watching the career he had given everything to dry up around him. Trapped until Baras gave him a way up. A way out. 

“And yet he persists,” she hisses. “A better, braver, smarter man. Your superior in every dimension save rank.” Her lips tug up to a sneer. “And I imagine that will be rectified soon enough.” 

“You are my men now!” Broysc hisses. “I command you all! Kill! Kill yourselves! I have spoken!” 

At the word spoken, a dot of spittle flies out of his mouth and lands on Fallon’s chin. She blinks a few times in disbelief and for Quinn, the world goes red. 

He has wanted this for so long. He will not be denied now because Broysc has insulted a Sith Lord. He will not be denied because Fallon will want to kill him. This death should belong to Quinn. He needs this.

“My lord,” he says, holding himself as straight as a razor blade. “My lord, I’ve resisted all along but this is personal. Permission to execute the Moff.” 

“Granted, of course,” Fallon wipes the spit from her chin with one long finger. She looks at it with moderate irritation and then shrugs with supreme disinterest. 

“As you command.” Quinn barely notices the way his voice shakes. 

“You--” Broysc tries to back away but his hands are bound behind him and there is nowhere to go. “You cannot kill me! You are nothing! I am a Moff!” 

“Not anymore,” Quinn barks. He grabs Broysc by the collar and jerks him forward into a punch. He feels the cartilage give way under his fist and there’s a trace of disappointment when he can’t feel the hot blood spray from the injury. He drops Broysc and rips off his gloves, dropping them to the side before he kneels over Broysc and socks him again, this time feeling the skin and blood under his fists. His knuckle hits teeth and it hurts but the hurt isn’t half as pleasant as the gurgled scream when he knocks those teeth down Broysc’s throat. 

He puts all of his weight on the Moff’s chest and works out ten years of hatred and bottled aggression on the small canvas of Broysc’s face. Until the Moff is drowning in his own blood and Quinn’s knuckles are bruised and tattered and then he slams Broysc’s head into the deck until the twitching stops. 

He looks up, wild-eyed with his hair a disaster and his chest heaving and he looks at Fallon to find that, rather than horrified, she seems entranced. He clears his throat. “I will dispose of the body, my lord. And have TwoVee clean the desk.” 

She nods, eyes still wide, as Quinn gathers the corpse, noticing the red spots on the floor that he’s not sure they’ll be able to get out, and heads for the airlock. He jettisons Broysc’s body with an insulting lack of ceremony and leans against the door, feeling freer than he has in weeks. His chest burns. He looks at his tattered knuckles and smiles. 

He feels good. 

Better by far than he has any right to. 

“That was different.” Fallon says, coming down the hall towards him. 

“No more of Moff Broysc’s men will have to endure his whims and incompetence.” Quinn smiles and then clears his throat, forcing his posture to stiffen. “Thank you for seeing this through.” 

“I thought you were going to shoot him,” she says with a small chuckle. 

Quinn licks his lips before he answers. He clears his throat and his shoulders slump. “It was a long decade, my lord.” 

Her hands come up to his cheeks and her lips part, leaning in to touch his. When Quinn curls his arms around her, his bloody hands slip on her skin. Fallon’s teeth scrape over his lower lip before she moves to whisper in his ear. “I’ve never seen you let go, Malavai. I like it.” She pulls away to look in his eyes. “I want you. Tonight, Malavai.” 

He opens his mouth and breathes, “yes” while every last weak moral fiber he possesses hisses no as loudly as they can. He cups her cheeks, bone spurs pressing into his palms and kisses her. “Yes.” 

#

He follows her back to her room and takes his jacket off, setting it on the back of her chair with hers. She pulls his undershirt off while pushing him backwards to the bed. He hits the mattress and groans as Fallon pins him in place. She settles on his hips, rocking slowly over and against him as though she’s forgotten that they’re both mostly clothed. His hands are bloody and the red is just a hair darker than the color of her skin. She licks the tip of one of his fingers and her mouth tastes like copper when it touches his. He slides his hand down, under her pants to squeeze her ass, savoring the way her hips rock in response.

Fallon pulls off her tube top and Quinn pushes himself up with one arm to flick one dark, pierced nipple with his tongue. She is majestic, muscled and scared and smooth, gold glinting in the light. The metal is cold but the way she inhales with pleasure more than makes up for the surprise. 

“Next time,” she tells him with almost a purr, pushing him back down and stretching out above him. “Malavai, I want to hurt you.”

His cock twitches with need, pinned beneath her. “How?” He asks, his voice rough with want. “Will you choke me, my lord?” 

She nods. “If you want. Always, only, if you want.” She kisses his chest, lipstick leaving a dark mark. “But tonight I intend to ride you until you’re sore and reveal in the passions you’ve hidden from me.” She reaches one hand between them and pets over his covered erection, earning a hard, needy groan. She finds his zipper and pulls it down slowly, rolling off of him to his side so she can slip two long fingers into the hole and stroke him with just enough pressure to make him buck against her. 

Fallon withdraws and stands, dropping her pants and her lacy underthings, standing bare above him, just beside the bed. Quinn’s eyes travel hungrily over her crimson skin and her jet-black hair, catching on the glint of gold around her bellybutton and on either side of each nipple. The hard ridges of her sternum beg to be licked, the sharp lines of her hip bones ache for his teeth. His mouth waters.

He slides off the bed and drops to his knees in front of her, thinking back to the day he joined her crew. The many uses he could conjure for himself simply from being on his knees. Fallon grins, she steps past him and sits on the edge of the mattress, her legs spread. Quinn turns and presses a kiss to the hot skin of her thigh, hesitating a moment until Fallon’s fingers curl in his hair and urge him onward. He presses a finger and then a second into her, feeling Fallon tighten around them and hearing her give a low, pleased moan, and then presses his mouth to her cunt. 

This is not the first time Quinn’s fucked a woman. There are few better ways to work out tension and the cantina was only a ten minute walk on his office from Balmorra. When all else failed, the dancing girls were only rarely just dancing girls. 

But Fallon is not a distraction from work. Fallon is a duty all her own and he is as diligent in his attentions as he is in every other facet, working with his fingers and tongue until his jaw is sore and his cock is aching and Fallon is bent backwards in ecstasy, her right hand holding his hair with a vice grip. He pulls away and thumbs his uniform trousers the rest of the way open, forcing them off his hips before he remembers his boots. Fallon chuckles in between heavy breaths, perfect breasts heaving and shining with a sheen of sweat. 

“It the excitement, Malavai, we got ahead of ourselves.” She pushes herself to sitting and takes his cock in hand, possessing him with slow, firm strokes. “I can’t blame us.” 

For Quinn there is a thrill in knowing that, as she kisses him, she’s tasting herself on his tongue. She pushes him onto the mattress and pulls away, tugging his boots off with surprising ease so he can drop his pants and briefs into a pile on the floor. She pulls him onto the bed with strong hands and caresses his shoulders and his sides while she kisses him. 

Passion is the font of strength, he recalls her saying. 

She pushes him to his back and cards her fingers through his hair as she rocks over his tip, taking him an inch at a time with the same teasing manner that she has used too often when almost kissing him. 

He thinks about grabbing her hips and slamming up into her. 

He stretches his arms above his head, inviting her to pin his wrists in place. She does and as she leans over him to do so she sinks the rest of the way over his erection and Quinn cries out.

True to her word, she rides him until he’s sore, his wrists burn from the pressure of her hands and he cums hard with a guttural cry that Fallon catches with her teeth. She rolls off of him and curls at his side, kissing him softly. 

A wave of exhaustion rolls over him as he kisses her back. 

“Stay tonight,” she breathes. She brushes his hairline tenderly. “I need to wash up.” 

“As you command,” he nips her lower lip. “My Lord.” 

She slides back into the bed beside him as he’s drifting deeper into sleep. Her skin is warm and slick and wet and her hair sticks to his skin when she sets her head on his shoulder. 

He is content.


	24. Backstab gives +2 to attack rolls.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Betrayal.

He wakes up in her arms feels like he’s going to vomit. On the floor, his holo flashes, no message but a missed call and that tells him everything he needs to know. The droids are ready, the trap is set. He just has to walk her into it. 

Quinn turns and Fallon makes a small, disapproving noise as the movement disrupts her sleep. He presses his mouth to hers, a goodbye kiss, before he slips out of bed and into his clothes, heading for the refresher to shower and vomit and let the brunt of his self-loathing hit before he has to go to work. 

The Hand needs them to go to Corellia, and Baras needs her _dead_ before that can happen. 

Quinn finds her after breakfast, coming from the cockpit so there’s no cause for suspicion. “My lord,” he clears his throat. “I’m afraid we cannot go to Corellia at this time. The Empire has enacted a martial law blockade of the entire system.” 

He lies calmly and easily and part of him hopes she sees through it. 

“I need the details so we can overcome this.” She looks up and gives Pierce a nod on his way to the refresher. To Quinn’s distaste, Pierce stops to listen. Had it been a signal? Did she know? Of course she would have Pierce dispose of him rather than dirty her hands herself. It was a kindness, Jaesa would take _time_ with his death. 

“The Imperial Fleet has been equipped with special transponder signal emitters. Any ship _without_ this emitter sticks out like a sore thumb.” It’s a very good lie and he’s proud of it. 

“Hmm,” Pierce narrows his eyes. “I never heard about such an initiative.” 

_Shit_ , Quinn thinks. Pierce _has_ been in touch with higher military officials. Black Ops is planning an assault on the Bastion. _Shit_. 

He affects irritation. “I’ve been monitoring Baras’s communications, _Lieutenant_.” At least his disdain for Pierce is natural and easy to hold onto. “He only implemented the order recently. Probably to keep us away from Corellia.” He looks back at Fallon. “Without a signal emitter with the Corellia space clearance, we will be noticed the minute we enter the system. But I believe I have a solution.” 

“That’s what I love most about you, Quinn,” Fallon says, but she says it quietly. “You’re incredibly resourceful.” 

“It’s a job that has come with great rewards,” he manages by inches to keep his voice from cracking and covers by clearing his throat. “I intercepted a transmission granting Corellia clearance to a class-A starship not far from here.” 

“Lucky us,” Pierce _almost_ snarls it as he crosses his arms, staring daggers through Quinn. 

He _knows_ , and all Quinn has to do is wait for Fallon to ask him. Or admit that she knows. Maybe they’ll kill him quickly. Maybe they can stop this before he does what he has to do. It’s _cruel_ of her to toy with him in this way. 

“Quite. We can board the vessel and take their signal transmitter,” Quinn says, brushing Pierce’s contempt aside.

“They won’t part with it easily,” Pierce reminds him and Fallon. “We’ll have to go in there guns blazing. A lot of fellow Imperials are going to die.” 

“It doesn’t sit well with me _either_ , Lieutenant.” Fallon frowns into her caf. 

“Nor with me,” Quinn says, hoping that they’re talking about _the plan_ and not his behavior. “But it is a _necessary_ evil. There are ways to minimize the casualties.” He folds his hands behind his back. “I know the schematics of class-A starships by heart.”

“ _Course you do_ ,” Pierce mutters under his breath.

“I could accompany you on board and lead you directly to the transponder station. It’s just a suggestion, but it would expedite things.” 

Fallon studies him for a moment and then nods. “Well, I’m not hearing any better suggestions. Pierce, you have the ship. Quinn and I will take the shuttle.” 

Pierce’s nostrils flare but he throws a salute. “My Lord.”

#

She is quiet on the flight over but she makes no indication that she’s stopped trusting him. Quinn steels himself as they reach the transponder room, grateful that only a single security team had to be sacrificed to make it all seem _legitimate_. 

The doors close behind them and Quinn takes a breath as he moves past her. “My lord, I regret that our paths must diverge. Out of respect, I wanted to be here to witness your fate.” 

_Respect_. All he can do is call it _respect_. Out of desperation, out of _adoration_. The _respect_ was that he wouldn’t send Vette or Jaesa or Pierce or Broonmark to die with her. He would take the shuttle and they would be left wondering but _alive_ because she loved them. When it came time to round them up, he would try to see them safe. Pierce to a regiment, Jaesa to the academy, Vette by his side, reviled and collared but _protected_. Broonmark left to return to Hoth because there was no place for him but he was _hers_ and Quinn would do what he could to insure his prolonged life.

“Ah.” She says. Her nostrils flare with rage, but she doesn’t go for a weapon. She just waits for him to explain himself, posture screaming that he had _better make this good_.

“It . . . pains me,” he swallows. “But this entire scenario is a ruse. There’s no martial law and no special signal emitter.”

She nods, not looking particularly surprised. 

“I owe Darth Baras more than you can imagine.” A career that is all he has ever been. A shot at the enemy. “ _He_ is my true master. He had me lure you here to be killed.” 

“Yes, I figured.” Fallon sets her hands on her hips and shakes her head. “Tell me, Captain, did I mean anything to you?” 

If he answers that question, Quinn won’t be able to do what needs to be done. “I didn’t _want_ to choose between the two of you,” He says instead. “But he’s forced my hand, and I _must_ side with him.” He clears his throat and adds the final touch. “Once you’re gone, your crew will either join Baras with me or be killed.” The threat, to keep her off balance. 

“Baras will run the Empire into the ground,” she explains in a dull voice. 

“Baras has always been one step ahead of every enemy.” As evidenced. “He’ll lead us to victory.” 

“He left you languishing on Balmorra for _ten years_ to keep you where he wanted you. He has cast aside more and more useful subordinates and he will burn the Empire down if it means he gets to rule the refuse.” She crosses her arms, but her expression is neutral and her tone flat. “And I really don’t know why I’m arguing this.” 

“Indeed.” Quinn clears his throat, not sure what she means about how _Baras_ left him on Balmorra. “After all this time observing you in battle, I have exhaustively noted your strengths and weaknesses.” He pushes a button and the doors open, revealing the war droids he sent Draahg the algorithms for. “These War Droids have been programmed specifically to combat you. I predict a near zero percent chance of their failure.” 

He expects her to say something cocky. He _wants_ her to threaten him. 

All she says is. “I’m in trouble then.” Her eyes are sharp and orange and they pierce right through him. “I know how clever you are.”

“I’m sorry it’s come to this--”

Fallon throws her hand out and he flies backwards, slamming into the wall hard enough to short out his vision. He tries to stand but his legs won’t hold him and all he can do is watch her blurry form bounce between the two droids. There’s no familiar glow of a lightsaber however, and through the ringing in his ears all he can hear are beastial screams and sobs above the sound of rending metal. 

It makes sense. Her lack of emotion to this point in their conversation, the minute tremors in her hands. She was storing it all up. Holding onto it for this moment. She’s mentioned the technique to Jaesa a number of times. 

The droids have cortosis armor, her lightsaber was taken into account. So she discards the weapons and relies on brute strength. He should have seen this coming. Maybe he did. Maybe he wants to die, rather than betray her. 

He doesn’t know and it doesn’t matter. 

Fallon rends the droids by hand and parts fly past him. He’s jerked forward and dropped to the ground in front of her. 

“I don’t know what went wrong,” he says weakly, looking up at her. There are tears on her cheeks, her hair is wild. She is undone and she is all he has ever wanted to look upon. 

“Passion is the font of strength, Captain,” Fallon growls. “What did you think would happen when my heart was broken?” 

He nods but he refuses to look away from her. It’s over now. At least _now_ it can be over. At least his last sight will be something more terrifying and beautiful than an ion bomb. “I have betrayed you. Conspired with your most hated enemy. I don’t expect your mercy.” 

She squeezes his throat. He gasps for air, lungs straining with effort and the blood that can’t reach his face drains down to his cock, making each shift of too-tight fabric send a wave of delicious heat to his stomach. This is _mortifying_ and she is beautiful and furious and he is _going to die_. He remembers Alderaan, Blenks will have trouble speaking for the rest of his life, and Duke Kendoh she nearly killed with a stroke. She has crushed the throats of some many others. Taught Jaesa the little tricks. She is an _artist_ with the Force. “That’s all you have to say?” she hisses. “You endanger my crew, you fuck me, and all you have to say is that you don’t expect my mercy?” 

The pressure around his throat tightens and then abruptly falls away. Fallon blinks and turns away. “You have it, regardless.” 

“My lord?” He stares at her. “This is . . . unexpected. Darth Baras would never forgive such a failure.” 

“Perhaps it would be wisest _not_ to mistake me for Baras, _Captain_.” The word _not_ is growled and the use of his rank feels like a brick against his teeth. 

He clears his throat. “Permit me to stay in your charge.” The words fly out of his mouth, higher and sharper than he had intended. “My dedication to you will never come into question again.” 

She snorts and hauls him to his feet with the Force, grabbing his jacket and jerking him close. “Betray me again, _Captain_ and all they will find of you is your cock in carbonite.” She lets go of him. 

“Y-yes, my lord.” He holds his own wait once she releases him and folds his arms behind his back at parade rest. “One thing, do you plan on telling the others what happened?” 

Fallon gives an almost tired sigh and shakes her head. She produces her compact from a pocket and her makeup from another, starting to touch up what the tears have ruined. “Vette would shoot you, you realize. And then Pierce would desecrate your corpse after Jaesa fucked it.” Fallon shakes her head. “Broonmark would probably try and eat you. This stays between us for the sake of _efficiency_.” 

“I . . . appreciate it, my lord.” He wants to ask if efficiency is the only reason, but the answer _should_ be yes after what he’s done and he doesn’t want to push his luck. 

“Mm.” She smacks her lips, checking that the lipstick is immaculate. She tucks her makeup and mirror away. “Let’s return to the ship. I believe we’re done here.” 

“Yes. My lord.” 

“Baras will call you tonight for an update?” 

“Yes my lord.” 

“Good.” 

#

Baras calls for the scheduled update and Quinn holds himself stiffly. 

“Can I take your appearance as a sign of success?” Baras asks, sounding almost smug. “What are the statuses of the crew members.” 

“The crew members are alive and well, my lord,” Quinn says. He swallows. “As is Lord Fallon.”

With the mask Baras’s mood is impossible to tell unless he’s speaking. The prolonged silence, however, does not bode well. “Captain,” Baras says in a low, threatening tone. “I trust your lust has not impeded your sense of duty.” 

“It has not, my lord.” Quinn narrows his eyes. “I have never been more certain of where my loyalties should lie.” With the Empire and with the best _hope_ for The Empire. He has considered Fallon’s claims carefully, that it was Baras who left him languishing on Balmorra. 

Baras is a powerful Sith Lord. He was the apprentice to a Dark Council member. 

He could have over-ridden one insane Moff and moved Quinn somewhere _useful_ but he _didn’t_. He kept him on Balmorra until he _needed him._

And then? The transfer request went through with unusual speed. The promotion to second grade came easily enough. He was held back until Baras had a use for him. His career, the thing he _owed_ to Baras, permitted to stagnate. 

Ten _years_. 

“A pity.” 

Baras raises a hand and Quinn expects to feel fingers tighten around his throat but nothing happens. Baras growls in frustration, tightening his hand to a fist. Quinn turns the comm off. He sets it down on the small table beside his bunk and exits his room to find Fallon sipping her caff in silence. 

“My lord?”

“I nearly let him,” she says without looking up. “Inform me if he calls again.” 


	25. Consummate Professional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something akin to a resolution after trying to kill her.

Three days after his betrayal, Quinn finds himself having to consider the _other_ meaning of the phrase “Consummate Professional” because, whatever else might be true he appears to be good and truly fucked. 

At least serving Fallon comes more naturally than serving Baras had. The potential for upwards advancement _exists_ as more than a distant carrot. His Lord is present and active, more than orders through the HoloNet and spies. Quinn is an Imperial and the Imperials strive to embrace the Sith Code if only to better understand and therefore serve the Sith themselves. 

Peace is a lie. There is only Passion. 

_Passion_ is what makes his new position on the bottom of whatever esoteric pecking order exists in her presence _bearable_. Much as he had when they’d first begun their courtship, Quinn watches her from the corners of his eyes as she moves. He studies the minute movements of her fingers and they gentle sway of her hips as she paces. 

But now he _remembers_ the heat of her skin. The taste of her. The sounds she makes when she’s fucked.

She spared him. He’s still not sure why but the way her expression had faltered warrants more thought. 

The crew has not been told. Vette is obnoxious and Jaesa is aloof. But these are standard. Vette's attempts to vex him feel like those of a child acting out because she has too much energy. Jaesa is preparing to leave on another mission to eliminate light side sith. 

Pierce is more _himself_ than ever. He struts with his chest out, eager to finally assault the Bastion. 

Broonmark keeps to himself. 

On the surface, the only thing that has changed is Fallon. Her eyes no longer seek his. Her fingers do not linger on his shoulder. Her absence in the silence is noticeable.

Even the music feels muffled. 

#

Quinn stays late in the cockpit as they near Corellian Space, lost in his own thoughts. _The Fury_ is quiet. Vette has taken the shuttle on a resupply mission, something about wanting to tune the engine in case Baras tries to pull anything. Jaesa was picked up earlier by her Dark Council Emissary to go exterminate some light side sith. Pierce will be leaving promptly for Black Ops assault on the Bastion. 

Quinn exhales. He tries to find contentment or at least some piece of serenity in the quiet, but can’t recall what serenity is like. The closest he’s come was the night he spent sweat-slick in her bed, his heart thundering and his breath ragged and her lips touching his. 

He closes his eyes and he can almost make out the feel of Broysc’s blood on his hands and the sound of her high, breathy moans. 

His eyes shoot open and he freezes when he _does_ hear a high, breathy moan. He waits, hoping that he hadn’t _actually_ heard that and when his fears are confirmed and he hears _another_ Quinn stands and moves, almost unwillingly, out of the cockpit. He starts to turn down to corridor towards Fallon’s bedchamber and stops. The cries are coming from the other direction.

> “You’re such a tease, Lieutenant.”

_Pierce_. 

Drawn forward by morbid curiosity and fury, Quinn reaches the utilitarian bedroom Pierce has claimed for himself and, sure enough, finds the source of the cries. 

> “You know I’m good for it, my lord.”

The door is open, offering him a perfect view of the back of Pierce’s head and, more distressingly, the crimson knees on either side of his ears. Fallon is sitting up, her long black hair down over her clothed shoulders. The skirt of her nightgown is pushed up over her thighs, obscuring but not quite hiding Pierce’s hands.

Her breath seems to quicken even as time slows for Malavai to drink in what’s happening. Her eyes are open, but they’re not focused on Pierce. They’re on the door. More importantly, they are on _Quinn_. She holds his gaze furiously and opens her mouth as if to sigh, instead wordlessly forming his name. _Malavai_. 

He clears his throat and says, in as tight and controlled a voice as he can manage, “My lord, when you have a moment I request an audience.” 

She gives a small nod and he clears his throat again, turns on his heel and walks back to the cockpit as quickly as he can. He turns on some music (a fight scene from _Wokun_ though he can’t recall which one or who won or even who is singing) to drown out the _possibility_ of overhearing them and _seethes_. 

He can’t _blame_ her. If their positions were reversed, Quinn’s not sure he would have let himself _live_ , much less continue to serve. But by the same _token_ she _must know_ how he feels about her. This can not be anything but deliberate. 

Idly he considers marching back and planting his blaster at the back of Piece’s skull or piloting _the Fury_ into a nice, solid moon. 

“You needed something?” Fallon says from behind him. 

Quinn takes a deep breath and stands, offering a salute. “Yes, my lord. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

“You were meant to.” Fallon shrugs. “It was Pierce’s idea. He doesn’t know _what_ happened, but he’s a smart man and he picked up on my displeasure rapidly, combined with his own investigation into the signal transmitters while we were gone.” 

“I--” Quinn nods, but doesn’t look away. 

“It couldn’t have been more about you if you’d been involved. Pierce, naturally, was looking to get a rise out of you. My own motivations are somewhat more complex.” She narrows her eyes at him. “I hope it makes my feelings at your . . . _misjudgement_ clear. That ache, that fury, the sense of helpless loss at the betrayal even knowing that what you thought you possessed had never truly been yours?” 

Quinn gives a very small nod. 

“It would have been less humiliating if I had walked in on you _actually_ sucking Baras’s cock.” 

Well, that’s vivid. 

“I understand.” He folds his hands behind his back and takes a deep breath. “And, in light of that, I need you to know that I do not feel conflicted in the least. Not about anything. Including you.” He holds his chin up. “I’ve held back long enough. Been too rigid, too inflexible. I won’t suppress my feelings or desires any longer.” He reaches up and cards a hand through his hair and bites his lower lip. The window has passed and closed. He fucked it up, he might as well push what little luck he has left. 

“I will not tolerate being teased, Quinn,” Fallon’s eyes narrow. “You’d better be serious.” 

Quinn snorts despite all his manners and scowls at her. “I don’t play games my-- _Fallon_.” Her eyes widen in surprise when he uses her name. “You should know that by now.” He steps into her. “I am mad for you, Fallon. Madder without you.” 

She gives him a smile, aching and affectionate, her eyes tinged with a small glow. She laces the fingers of her left hand with his right while her right comes up to touch his cheek. The tips of her thumb touches his lips before her fingers brush over his temple and into his hair. “Oh, Malavai, my Malavai. I want you,” she says the words softly. “But I can not forgive you yet.” She presses her mouth to his. 

“You want me still?” The question is whispered and he can scarcely believe he actually asked it. After his lies and betrayal, _mercy_ was more than he had expected. To suspect her affections would remain intact had been unthinkable. 

She gives a small, dark chuckle and tugs his hair. “If I _didn’t,_ Malavai, you would be dead.” 

“And The Lieutenant?” He capitalizes both article and rank. 

“What about him?” 

He pauses. 

Fallon rolls her eyes. “If I wanted Pierce in my bed for the sake of having Pierce in my bed I would have had him before now. He has no attraction to me, beyond what irritates you, and I have no attraction to him beyond the services he is willing to perform.” 

“Fair enough.” He’s not in a position to complain _anyway_. 

“Aim your weapon at me again, and you will likely find him back in my bed. Consider that the “stick” of our relations.” 

Her mouth touches his, the carrot. 

And he can accept this. 

#

>   
> 
> 
> “It couldn’t be more about you,” Fallon says as Quinn’s face hits the table, his wrists pinned to his back underneath one broad, gauntleted hand. He’s hard as a rock and when he struggles to free himself the hand tightens, forcing his wrists a little higher.
> 
> “This what you want, m’lord?” Pierce grunts. Quinn can feel the other man’s cock press to his asshole. His heart lodges in his throat, _excitement_ not _fear_. His tongue prods the bruise on his lower lip.
> 
> “Oh yes,” Fallon says softly. “Look at me, Malavai. I want to see your face.” 
> 
> Quinn looks up and there she is, bare and beautiful, seated on black velvet. She fucks herself slowly with two fingers, lips parted with ecstasy. Her eyes are bright and fixed on his. 

  


Quinn wakes up in his quarters with a hard-on and a series of questions for his subconscious. He takes care of the first and cleans himself off before rubbing a hand over his face and muttering “ _what the fuck?”_ under his breath. 

But Fallon would probably be into it. 

Quinn’s heart rate picks up. Fallon would _definitely_ be into it. And it wouldn’t be hard to convince Pierce, the lieutenant would love the thought of humiliating Quinn, even if it’s just for a scripted scene. The idea of Fallon getting off to his subjugation is _perfect_ and also _horrible_ and Quinn has not had nearly enough caf for this. 

He’s grateful to have _work_ to focus on the moment they land on Corellia. Fallon gathers the crew (himself, Vette and Broonmark, in any case. Pierce is dealing with the Bastion and Jaesa is supposed to meet them in the Spaceport) around the holoterminal to listen to The Hand as they send the coordinates to the assassins’ landing strips and restate _how important_ it is that she protect Darth Vowrawn. The holo goes dark and Fallon turns to start handing out assignments when the terminal beeps again and starts to come on. 

Quinn frowns. “My lord, I’m detecting a forced transmission.” 

“Let him through, Quinn,” Fallon crosses her arms and looks at the console as Baras flickers into view. “It costs us nothing to be polite.” 

“I assume you still recognize me,” Baras says as he flickers into view. “Consider yourself fortunate that I am reaching out like this.” 

“Is this charade necessary? You _do_ realize that I’m going to kill you, don’t you?” Fallon sighs, as though she is bored. 

“I am beyond your reach, and therefore beyond concern. I’m here to tell you that you are being deceived. The organization you work for is _not_ the Emperor’s hand.” 

Fallon chuckles and shakes her head and bats her eyelashes. “Then enlighten me.”

“Your glibness is never to your credit.” Baras rebukes. “All you need to know is that you are the puppet of a sect that the Emperor cast off. They seek his destruction. I am his Voice,” Baras straightens to appear more regal. 

Out from under Baras’s thumb--and having survived the Sith Lord’s attempt to throttle him half-way across the galaxy--Quinn can only see his own disillusionment.

“I don’t expect you to trust me, and in the end, you and what you think are inconsequential. So believe what you will, but your handlers have you in over your head, sticking your wet nose into Darth business.” 

“ _Darth Business_ ,” Vette chuckles. “ _Darth Buzi’Ness.”_

“You’ve convinced me,” Fallon lies. “I’ll steer clear of this conflict.” 

“I will judge you by your actions, not your words. Walk away now and perhaps our previous animosities can be swept aside.” 

The terminal goes dark and Fallon starts to chuckle at some private joke. She sighs and looks up at the space where Baras had been. “I spoke with the Emperor on Voss. Baras must be _terrified_.” Her eyes a bright and glowing. “Quinn, you’re with me. Broonmark, guard the ship. Vette, you have the helm and engines. Anyone other than us tries to take off, cripple her and get yourself to safety.” 

Vette nods, snapping a salute she almost certainly intends to be mocking, and Broonmark buzzes. 

And Quinn follows Fallon out into the captured Corellian spaceport, heart thundering to finally be in the thick of the war he’s longed for.


	26. Like Chess But The Queens Are Playing Co-Op

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corellia, Vowrawn and someone finally shuts Draagh up

Jaesa meets them near the spaceport entrance, her orange eyes aglow as she greets them with a bow. 

“You were victorious?” Fallon asks.

“It was glorious, Master. I can not wait to relate the whole story to you when we’ve finished here.” 

“I can’t wait to hear it.” Fallon’s smile is vibrant and sharp. “For now though, I don’t trust that Baras doesn’t have agents here. I want you aboard _The Fury_ with Broonmark and Vette to defend if the occasion arises. Keep your comm on and at hand, I may require you.” 

“Of course,” Jaesa’s smile is nearly as sharp as Fallon’s. “Good hunting.” 

Quinn nods. Jaesa’s connection to the force will allow her to feel threats before they happen, like when she felt Lord Draagh’s approach on Hoth. That should be enough to give them time to react. _Time_ is perhaps the most precious resource they can scrape together to stop Baras. 

Stopping Baras, not long ago at all the thought would have enraged him. Now, though, now he is excited, climbing higher on a ladder laid before him by someone _worth_ following. Someone who works towards the _Empire’s_ interests, not merely her own. 

#

The first of Baras’s assassins is a droid. Fallon intercepts it on the roof and crosses her arms over her chest, tilting her head to the side. She lies. She lies with absolute confidence and the Droid turns and leaves. No longer constrained by his treachery and having told _her_ that he would no longer suppress his desires, Quinn reaches out and curls an arm around her waist as they head back to the elevator. There is no time to waste, but he can multi-task when required. He kisses her neck and earns a dark chuckle. 

“Are you suggesting I _excite_ you?” she teases. 

“No, my lord. I am _stating_ such.” 

“Nearly as much as my will around your neck?” He can hear the smirk and the raise of her brow in the words. “Yes, I noticed.” 

“More than, my lord,” he doesn’t mumble. And he lets himself be _proud_ of the fact that he didn’t mumble.

The second assassin is an SIS Operative and one who eyes her with admiration over the iron sights of his blaster. He knows who she is and what she’s done and declares that he is delighted for the opportunity to be the one to take her down. 

Fallon snaps his neck while he’s talking and turns to leave as the body drops. “Did Voloren talk so much?” She asks.

“No, my lord. He was more the silent type.” 

“I imagine more so after you shot him.” 

“Yes, my lord. Much quieter after that.” 

It is surreal. It is like a stroll through Kaas City’s gardens if he tunes out the blaster fire. But he doesn’t, he clings to the conflict and the adrenaline and the way she smiles at him as though everything is back to normal. 

The third assassin arrived early, but Fallon is contacted by the Hand--a new servant, a woman--and given Vowrawn’s location, a well guarded Republic base where he is operating secretly. 

It’s a brilliant idea. Hiding in the enemy’s back row and using them as a shield against Baras’s forces. The nearsighted Republic can’t see him to strike and, while it makes it difficult for Fallon and Quinn to get to him, that’s likely the point. 

Quinn’s breath stops for a moment on the monorail as she leans against him and nips his neck. Shivers run the length of his spine and he has to fight not to tilt his head and beg silently for more. Adrenaline and murder have the keenest effect on her and he loves it. He loves that they are alike in this, the only difference being that _she_ has never felt the need to restrain it. 

_Through Victory, my Chains are Broken._

_I will revel in the passions you have hidden from me._

He loves it. And yes, _now_ he can use that word. The _joy_ is back in her fighting and he can’t help but feel his confession helped put it back. Her smile is sharp and vibrant when he catches it out of the corner of his eyes as they destroy the shield generators and lay waste to the soldiers. 

Her eyes are sharp when the “Republic” soldier “arrests” her and they are lead down a corridor and through a door, told to continue onwards alone. They are confronted by one of Vowrawn’s apprentices, a particularly surly zabrak. _He_ , of course, insists that her rift with Baras is a ruse. 

Fallon sighs and ignites her lightsaber. “One way or another, I must speak with Darth Vowrawn.” 

“Die, _assassin_.” 

The fight is quick and brutal. He has one weapon and she has two. She rushes in, keeping her opponent on the defensive. She unignites the weapon in her right hand half-way through a strike and as he moves to block socks him hard enough in the nose to break it. The saber reignites, beam passing through his skull as she turns away. Fallon re-clips both weapons to her belt as the body hits the ground and smiles. “The nice thing about having to hurry is that many sith lords overcompensate for skill by being flashy. It’s nice on occasion to deny them.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“Appearances are important, of course, but sometimes it just feels nice to cut loose.”

They take the elevator up and into three more of Vowrawn’s apprentices--all human, all male--and Fallon _sighs_. “Where is Darth Vowrawn?”

“You’ll never find out, scum.” The Apprentice in the middle of the triangle says, gesturing at her. “You’ve defeated Lord Haresh, but you can’t overcome the three of us.” 

Fallon raises a skeptical brow. She _can_. 

There is not a doubt in Quinn’s mind. 

“Stop!” A voice from the shadows orders, he sounds _old_ but sprightly. There’s a creak to the consonants that Quinn thinks _might_ be false but he can’t be certain. Out steps another pureblood sith, very old with deep purple skin and obvious wrinkles. Likely Darth Vowran himself, or an _immediate_ proxy. 

He looks nothing like the Colossus that was being built near Kaas City, Quinn notes. He had been expecting a human male. 

“Lord Qet, stand down,” Vowran orders, not _quite_ snapping. 

Fallon straightens respectfully. 

Vowran himself, then. 

“My lord, retreat into the shadows,” Qet says without taking his eyes off of Fallon and Quinn. “We will handle this assassin.” 

“There could be ten of you and you would still fail.” Vowrawn snorts dismissively. Fallon gives a small, agreeable nod. “ _Leave us_.” 

“I’m not here to kill you.” Fallon crosses her arms so they are nowhere near her weapons. She allows her posture to relax and Quinn follows suit, falling to parade rest but without taking his hand off his blaster. 

“Please, don’t insult my intelligence.” He sighs. “I _applaud_ you.” Vowrawn gives a very small smile. “Convey my congratulations to your master for his superior play. I only ask that I not suffer the indignity of decapitation.”

“I do not seek your death, Darth Vowrawn, and _Baras_ ,” she snaps the name. “Is _not_ my master.” 

“Nothing more can be gained by maintaining this deception.” Vowrawn strokes his chin. “If this is _true_ then the game is renewed.” His eyes glow red, the way hers glow yellow-orange. 

A dart flies from the shadows and strikes one of Vowrawn’s apprentices in the back. He twitches and Fallon jerks Vowrawn over her head and safely behind her as the apprentice explodes. 

“Darth Vowrawn, Baras says you gotta die,” the weequay in the shadows says. 

Fallon grins and snarls, “there you are!” She leaps forward, leaving Quinn to protect the Councillor and jumps back a moment later, tossing the weequay’s head over her shoulder. “Well, that’s those then.” 

“That assassin had me dead to rights,” Vowrawn says. “You did not hesitate to defend me.” He smiles. “My friend, I am convinced. What’s more, I believe--with my help--you can defeat Darth Baras.” 

“Music to my ears,” Fallon says. 

“Then I have a little confession to make.” He gestures down the corridor and Fallon nods.

“Quinn,” she says, turning to face him. “Contact Jaesa and Pierce, let them know to rendezvous here. They will be escorting Darth Vowrawn back to the ship where he can be more adequately protected.” She looks at Vowrawn as though daring him to argue. “You are are too important to the Empire, my lord. Baras will send more assassins.”

“I quite understand, my friend,” Vowran’s smile remains in place.”

“At once, my lord.” Quinn excuses himself to a corner to make the calls while Vowrawn and Fallon talk in private.

Pierce answers the holo and crosses his arms when he sees it’s Quinn instead of Fallon. “Yeah?” 

“Collect Jaesa and hurry to these coordinates, Lieutenant,” Quinn says stiffly, resisting the urge to correct Pierce’s casual _hey_ to the more appropriate _yes sir_ that is befitting of the difference in their rank. “Lord Fallon has made contact with Darth Vowrawn, you and Jaesa are to escort The Darth back to Fury for safe-keeping.” He tries not to think about the fact that this is the first time they’ve spoken since before the . . . incident. 

He tries not to think about the incident. 

He is failing. 

“You get sent the coordinates for a Republic Base.” Pierce raises an eyebrow.

“I am well aware of the coordinates I sent, _Lieutenant_.” 

“Tell ‘er Lordship we’ll be right there.” Pierce’s posture remains relaxed. “Might be a bit, depending on resistance. Does she want the base blown up on the way out?” 

“Simply get Darth Vowran to the ship, Lieutenant. I am certain you can handle that much, provided Ms. Willsaam is there to help.” 

#

The next order of business is to dismantle what remains of Baras’s power structure on Corellia. Quinn remains at her side as she carves a cauterized swath through the republic ranks. Her eyes are bright as he rigs an anti-aircraft turret to explode. 

“You were wasted on Balmorra,” she tells him. “You were wasted during the Cold War as a whole, not nearly enough opportunities to blow up giant cannons.” 

“I intend to make up for it, my lord,” he lets himself say it fondly, matching the almost flirtatious cadence of her tone. 

She gives Baras’s slicer-- a weaselly man by the name of Slenks--to Vowrawn, keeping his services within the Empire because they need him. She terrifies him first, hurling him into the wall as she and Quinn enter the center of his operation and lifting him along the wall, still pinned, so he is face to face with her snarl as she exacts the information she needs and offers him his life in exchange for his service to Vowrawn. 

Her holocom buzzs as they leave a room full of dead jedi behind. Fallon produces it and listens as Vowrawn’s agent Shadow patches her through the Pierce, claiming there had been an attack on the ship. 

Fallon is eerily still as Pierce flickers into view. He is bruised and still running, Vette, unconcious, slung over one arm.

Black and red mist pools around Fallon’s feet and collects smoke-like around her wrists and fingers. “Apologies, my lord,” Pierce says, the connection spotty. “The attack was sudden, unknown assailant, very powerful. On the run now, taking Vowrawn to a safehouse in the Imperial Legislature. Vette got choked out. She’ll be alright, sir, promise.” 

“Is the attacker dead?”

“Way out of our league, my lord.” Quinn is surprised to hear the admission, for all of Pierce’s bluster maybe he _does_ know his limits. “Lucky we all got out in one piece. Almost to the safe house, meet us there.” He sends coordinates and Fallon tucks her comm away. She _sprints_ back towards the taxi without looking back.

#

When they reach safehouse, Fallon looks first to her crew. Vette gives a small, apologetic smile and wave. Fallon nods, indicating her relief without saying anything in front of Vowrawn and turns to address the Darth. 

“You made it,” he says with a smile and a little laugh. “This is heating up, isn’t it? Baras has taken off the sparring gloves. That assassin was the most lethal to date.”

 

“Leave nothing out, Darth Vowrawn, I must know how it went down.” Fallon’s tone is clipped and tense, but her posture is mannered, arms folded behind her back. “Quinn,” she gives him a glance and indicates Vette with her eyes. 

He nods and walks towards where Vette is sitting on a box. “Aw,” she croaks. “You’re _worried.”_

He snorts. 

“The attack was sudden and vicious,” Vowrawn says from where he’s talking with Fallon. “But there was no panic, no confusion. To a man, your people stared into the face of death and did not flinch. Lieutenant Pierce took command, Jaesa focused on keeping the assailant’s attention, though he did get a hold of your twi’lek while she disabled the takeoff sequence. Your Talz, by the way, is the most vicious creature I’ve seen in some time. You must be proud.” 

“I am, incredibly,” Fallon says.

“Hold still.” Quinn takes a hold of Vette’s chin and gently, far gently than he had intended, tilts her head to the side to see if there’s any damage. Vette hisses with pain as her neck moves. “You just need something for the pain,” he concludes.

“ _Great_ ,” she rasps. 

“You’ll be fine.” He administers a small shot. “And _she_ worries about you.” He exhales. “That’s enough for me.” 

“Love you too, jerk.”

He rolls his eyes, reminded again of his supreme dislike for her. “ _Rest_ ,” he instructs before pointing her to a makeshift cot and heading back across the room. 

“You’ve successfully neutralized Baras’s agents.” Vowran says as Quinn returns to Fallon’s side. “The endgame is upon us, we must both go on the offensive.”

“You have a plan, no doubt,” Fallon replies, her eyes sharp. “I have been on the defensive for too long by _far_.” 

“Quite, quite,” Vowran nods. “In a secret lair on this planet, Baras has bound and indentured an ancient Sith spirit. He feeds off this spirit's power, stealing all her visions of the future. Everything he has built has come from her insights.” 

“Why haven’t you acted on this already?” 

“You think I haven’t tried?” Vowrawn shakes his head and snorts. He rests his hands on his hips and curls his lip in briefest distaste before his features smooth back over. “It is the _true_ reason I am warring here. Baras’s defenses have repelled my every attempt.” He gives Fallon a serious look, the personable mask disappearing for the briefest moment, allowing Quinn to see the thick marks of darkside corruption that encircle Vowrawn’s eyes like kohl for what they truly are. “Only _you_ have the power to break into his lair and only _I_ know the ritual that unlocks the spirit’s bonds. Deliver me to her, and we will strike the ultimate blow and cripple Baras from within.” 

“Then I am one step closer to facing him myself.” Fallon’s lip curls with disdain. “I owe him for a number of insults.” 

Quinn can’t help but feel that he ranks near the top. If not _at_ the top. 

Though Baras’s assassin _did_ almost kill Vette, and Quinn can’t imagine Fallon would take her death with even a fraction of the grace with which she handled his betrayal. 

He can’t decide if knowing her passion for him is that tremendous would be worth _actually_ being at the top of the list of insults Baras has dealt her. 

Vowrawn’s mask returns and he smiles pleasantly. “We achieve this and I’ll walk you into the Dark Council chamber myself. I’ll come when you signal, but please be sure that assassin isn’t waiting.” 

Fallon gives Vowrawn a chuckling smile and returns to her crew, looking over injuries as best she can with only a few moments before she has to go. Pierce shakes his head and says he’s fine in a low voice. Probably bravado. Quinn watches her brush her fingers over Vette’s neck as though she can sooth the sore throat through touch. “Jaesa,” she says softly. “I will take Quinn with me to face Baras’s spirit. You will guard Darth Vowrawn with your very life, learn what you can from him while in his presence, Vowrawn has sat the Dark Council the longest. There’s wisdom there, and your ambitions will need it.”

“Yes, Master. I will await your return eagerly.” 

“Pierce, Broonmark, you will return to the ship with Vette and get it ready for take off.” She sighs and gives Vette a loving smile. “Take something for your throat.” 

“Yes, my lord.” Vette croaks, leaning into the gentle touch of Fallon’s fingers. “Admiral Malcontent gave me something already.” 

“Good. Once the ship is ready you will rest in my bed until I return. It’s darker than the engine room, you’ll sleep better.”

#

Outside of Baras’s secret compound, Fallon turns to look at Quinn. Her expression is hard, her eyes trying to pierce through him. “You said you were eager to win back my trust _in addition_ to my affections.” 

He nods. “More than anything, my lord.” 

“This is your chance, Quinn. If Vowrawn is correct, freeing this spirit will damage Baras’s power base to the point where ending his life is little more than a formality albeit one I will _revel_ in.” Her eyes harden and her mouth forms a red line. “Are you _mine_ , Malavai Quinn?” 

He nods. “I am, my lord. Body and spirit.” He feels something pressing against his thoughts and he welcomes it, the chance for her to feel his sincerity.

The feeling dissipates and Fallon’s smile returns, hungry and vicious. “Good.”

Baras’s secret sanctum is well guarded but unprepared for a proper assault. His blaster is little more than a distraction to Baras’s sith, but the tuk’ata go down easy enough and that keeps them off of Fallon’s heels. 

At the end of a long, ornate hallway they find the entity: a glowing being in the shape of a humanoid woman, made of the same red-black miasma that so often swirls around Fallon. She hovers, arched in pain, above a pool of the same material that she is made. 

“There she is,” Vowrawn say, coming up behind them. “ _The Entity_.”

“Where is my apprentice,” Fallon asks.

“I sent her back to your vessel, she’s quite charming.” Vowrawn looks back to the entity. “Such pure dark side energy. Is she not _utterly_ beautiful?” 

“I have no words,” Fallon says, an almost reverent softness to her tone, now that she is assured that Jaesa is unharmed. “She is _entrancing._ ” She licks her lip. “Utterly entrancing.” 

_Come. Closer_. 

They are not _words_ , but Quinn feels them in his very bones and the Entity reaches out and wraps its--her--will around their brains. 

_You are here. To Aid. Baras Knows. I cannot resist._

Quinn winces, it feels like a vice pressing against the speech center of his brain as the Entity presses her will against him. Neither Vowrawn nor Fallon look uncomfortable, both taking another step closer. 

_He. Desecrated. My. Resting Place. Where I waited for my love. Your Emperor. I am Bound. Every Extraction. Painful. If You fail. He will punish. Me. For Welcoming You._

“Don’t fear, Entity,” Vowrawn says in a cool, clear voice. “The trial is over. I know the incantation, it is a simple matter--”

_No._ The Entity hisses. _You Do Not. Understand. We. Are. Not. Alone._

Fallon turns and ignites her lightsaber even as Vowrawn flies backwards to crack into the wall. 

“My lord!” Quinn moves without thinking, placing himself between her and the approaching cyborg. He lifted as if by two fingers under his chin, blaster falling to the ground as the force tightens around his throat. He remembers how Fallon’s grip had felt, almost warm and careful. This is a vice. This is ice shoved down his throat to choke him.

“At last,” the voice is _familiar_ but through the pain, Quinn can’t place it. He claws at his throat and kicks his feet. “I’ve caught up with you again. I told you, I cannot be killed.” 

“Drop him,” Fallon snarls. “Immediately.”

“Submit, and your man will live.” 

There’s a crack and a pained grunt and the pressure around Quinn’s throat dissolves immediately. He hits the ground and coughs. 

“Pick up your blaster, Quinn,” Fallon says, her voice a quiet growl. “While Draahg bends his fingers back to place.” 

“The sight of you sickens and delights me.” Draahg says. He lifts his hand, fingers bent at the wrong angles, and drags Vowrawn upright and into the air, a thick red mist swirling around him. The Councillor screams. “In minutes, the great Darth Vowrawn will disintegrate. Then the Entity will forever be in Baras’s control.” 

_Truth. The death field. Is powered. By the Machinery. Of Draahg’s._

“I’ll just have to be more thorough this time.” Fallon growls and rushes forward. The fight is fast and brutal, like when she fought Quinn’s droids. She doesn’t rely on her lightsabers, using them to block and close but trusting on her own strength and speed over the weapons. Most sith, Quinn has learned, consider themselves _above_ brawling. 

Fallon does not. 

She screams and the world ripples around her. She tackles Draahg to the ground and wrenches the cybernetics out of his eyes. In turn, Draahg’s hand curls around her right wrist and there’s a pop and she _screams_ as he twists and snaps the bone in two. Fallon sinks her teeth into his shoulder and rips out a chunk. Quinn cannot fire for risk of hitting her. All he can do is watch as the two sith tear at one another until finally, beaten and bloody and glowing Fallon stands victorious, holding something in her good hand. She drops it on Draahg’s face with a _splat_ as the field holding Vowrawn falters and fades and Vowrawn coughs and shakes himself, sounding like he’s on the verge of laughter and tears. 

“Such a finish. Never _felt_ so much pain.” He exhales hard and rubs his hands together like he’s trying to restore life to them. “I fully expected to die. But I am grateful to have witnessed the destruction of that monstrosity.” 

“I’m sure it was quite a show.” She gives Quinn a nod and he holsters his blaster and reaches into a pocket for some painkillers and kolto. She exhales a shuddering sigh as the kolto hits her system and Quinn wills his heart to slow. 

He can admit to being worried for her. It’s weirdly freeing. 

“I’m sure Baras didn’t think so.” Vowrawn sounds almost giddy. “Entity, is he aware of what transpired here?” 

“Baras has no appreciation of the Arts,” Fallon says, holding her head up even as her weight starts to sway.

_Through me. The defiler. Sees all. Of This._

“Wonderful.” Vowrawn claps his hands and beams. “He must be twisting with fury. Now, we set up the ritual and _you_ , Lord Fallon, should set that wrist.” He clucks about it, reminding Quinn of a mother hen and it’s just . . . it’s _unsettling_. Everything about Vowrawn’s brief imitation of a maternal figure sets his teeth on edge. 

Quinn, rather than think about that, follows Fallon a short ways away from where Vowrawn is preparing. They pass Draahg’s body and Quinn notes that the _thing_ she had dropped on his face was his tongue, force-ripped from his mouth. 

The moment she sits, Quinn kisses her, he can taste blood on her teeth and he doesn’t care whether it’s hers or Draahg’s. Fallon chuckles as she pulls away. “Unprofessional, Quinn.” 

“Forgive me.” 

“I like it.” She leans in and catches his lower lip between her teeth to kiss him again. “Now, help me with this wrist so I don’t jostle it and then call the ship, we’ll be moving out shortly.” 

“Yes, my lord.” He busies himself with the work. Fallon doesn’t wince, though she does grimace as he splints the bone and manages a makeshift sling to hold her arm by her chest. He wonders if she has ever been more vulnerable. He doesn’t imagine she would appreciate the train of thought if she were aware of it but he lets himself worry. 

It is _freeing_ to worry. 

There is a shudder behind them and Fallon stands just in time for The Entity to walk up to her. They stand face to face and Fallon doesn’t flinch. 

_Free. Now. I am. Forgotten again. And grateful. Remember me. To. The defiler._

“I will,” Fallon inclines her head and the spirit passes through her and vanishes. 

“My dear,” Vowrawn is almost humming with delight. “You have been a _revelation._ It’s time for you to confront Darth Baras.” 

“I have been waiting for this for too long.” Fallon rolls her neck. “I’ll rest on the way there, but it’s time to pay him back for every,” she looks at Quinn and his eyes drop to the floor. “Insult.”

“Indeed. Tell the Hand the Dark Council awaits.” Vowrawn grins. “And _I’ll_ be there to usher you in.” 

“Sounds like fun.” 

“Doesn’t it? I’m all a quiver.” Vowrawn laughs. “Until then, my friend.” 


	27. Three Little Words (Hurt me, baby)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallon recovers from her fight with Lord Draagh, Quinn admits his feelings aloud, Baras is murdered but Quinn doesn't get to watch.

Fallon spends the evening in the infirmary, stripped down to almost nothing and floating in a kolto tank. The crew, with the notable exception of Broonmark, take turns sitting in the room with her, monitoring her vital signs.

Quinn’s presence is constant. Vette takes over the helm while he falls into the rhythm of medic. She gives him a thin-lipped smile as she passes. Quinn takes stock of Fallon’s injuries, and finds that they are more extensive than she’d let him believe following the fight. Her wrist was snapped in two. Her abdomen is a mess of black and purple bruises and welts, as though something tried to claw up _through_ her organs. She coughs up blood if she speaks for too long.

Draahg had almost killed her. 

Quinn had almost _lost_ her. He has her _affections_ , but he doesn’t know if that’s purely physical or not. He doesn’t know if she loves him and he doesn’t know if she _trusts_ him.

And he needs to. 

More importantly if she _does_ get herself killed before he tells her he will spend the rest of his (admittedly short, once Baras catches them) life kicking himself. And he’s got enough of that between the many years he let Broysc live and the way he betrayed her for Baras. He doesn’t need _another_ regret. He has no regrets about _where_ he _is_ , how he got here remains another matter.

The next morning, Fallon sits in the lounge as usual, reading and letting her wrist swirl with black and purple smoke. Her other hand holds her caff, but she looks up when Quinn enters her field of vision and gives him a small smile, knowing and just a little teasing at the corners. “Yes, Captain?” 

“My lord, standard system checks are all clear. The ship and crew are operating at peak efficiency.”

“And our Captain?” Fallon asks with a small smile, as though she knew that that wasn’t _all_ he could want to mention. It’s been months since he’s _just_ given a standard systems update. Maybe longer. 

“Not exactly,” he gives her a small smile and shakes his head. “There’s much I wish to communicate to you, but I’m waiting for a moment of privacy.” 

Fallon looks around and chuckles, shifting so there’s room on the couch beside her. “We’re more or less alone now, whisper so only I can hear it.” 

“With pleasure.” He sits beside her and almost loses his nerve. “Fallon, I’m falling . . . I’ve _fallen_ in love with you. What’s more, I think you’re falling in love with me. Am I wrong?” 

Fallon chuckles and sips her caff. “For such a brilliant man, you can be a little slow on occasion, Malavai.” She catches his mouth with her own before the offense can settle in. Her healing hand comes up to gingerly touch the side of his face as she deepens the kiss and when she pulls away her yellow eyes are warm, nearly adoring. “I have _been_ in love with you.” She laughs. “That’s the only way your deception worked. The only reason you survived it. I adore you, Malavai Quinn, and it turns out I cannot bear the thought of your destruction.” 

Quinn flushes but looks her dead in the eye. “Now we’ve said it, later, we’ll show it.” 

“Sounds exciting, do _you_ want to be on top this time?” 

“I--my love, I might.” He kisses her temple, still expecting to be rebuked for the endearment. Fallon instead leans against him and drops her hand into his lap to touch his knee. “But only because you’re still recovering.” 

She exhales softly. “I have wanted to hear you admit that you’re in love with me for longer than is seemly.” She chuckles. “There were times I doubted.” 

“I will work to ensure that you never have those moments again, my lord.” He clears his throat and wraps his arm around her, pulling her closer and then kissing the top of her head. “My love.” 

#

That night she straddles his hips on her mattress. He licks his lips and sits up, supporting himself with one arm behind him, trying to kiss her. Fallon’s good hand tightens in his hair, holding his head back just out of range of her mouth. “You never _did_ decide if you wanted to be on top tonight, Malavai.” 

“I did not.” 

“Do you want me to hurt you?” 

Quinn licks his lips again and pulls against the hand in his hair. There’s no doubt that she could dominate him entirely even with her right arm mostly out of commission. He _wants_ that. _Admitting_ that is still something of a challenge, but there’s a thrill in the humiliation itself. He shifts his hips beneath her, his cock rubbing against her underthings. He can’t remember how he ended up completely naked and Fallon has not. 

“Malavai?”

“ _Yes_.” He manages, mouth dry. Pulled back into the moment. 

“Yes _what_?” 

“I want you to hurt me,” he says softly, cheeks burning red. 

Fallon’s smile is sharp. She bites his shoulder, sinking her sharp teeth through the skin and Quinn bucks. He cries out and then gasps as her tongue moves over the bite, stinging and teasing. Pressure builds around his throat and it feels like Fallon’s fingers. He tilts his head back, gasping for air as the blood that can’t reach his face drains down to his cock. Fallon’s mouth moves against his as he struggles for air. She kisses his lower lip and rocks her hips, sending a sharp wave of pleasure through his aching cock and into his stomach. 

Just when his vision starts to blur, the pressure lessens and he can breathe. Quinn gulps in air and cups Fallon’s cheek, leaning in to kiss her, half-expecting her to stop him. 

She takes the kiss greedily, reaching between them. Her long fingers trace the veins of his erection, earning a delighted groan before she reapplies the pressure around his neck and slides her panties to the side, guiding him into her with two long fingers.

Through the painful near-euphoria of oxygen deprivation and the fever-heat of Fallon’s embrace, Quinn can scarcely think. She rides him slow, holding his throat with her will alone and his eyes with her own. He can’t speak to tell her he loves her but he tries, breath rough and ragged as she mercilessly controls her pace, drawing out every stroke. His muscles burn, fighting the urge to buck, forced to sit up while she works over him, his head swimming. 

He cums only when she lets him and gulps in air as she lets him breath. Fallon kisses the pulse point of his throat as he falls backwards onto the mattress beneath her. She rolls to his side and hums contentedly. 

“Was that what you had in mind, my Malavai?” She teases.

He shakes his head slowly. “Anything I might have imagined pales in comparison, my love.” 

#

The trip to Korriban takes a few days, days Fallon uses to rest up, spending prolonged periods in meditation. It feels like a last deep breath before the plunge and Quinn pays attention to every minute detail. 

Pierce is tense, but it’s an eager tension. Quinn overhears him asking Fallon to make this post more permanent and the deep belly laugh when Fallon idly comments that Pierce has more than earned the right to come or go as he pleases. 

“No reason to leave, it’s a long way down from here. But more will come, apprentices, officers, your own battalions, they’ll need training. Leave them to me. Quinn’ll just teach ‘em to jockey a desk.” 

Fallon laughs at that. “If we taught them your ferocity and Quinn’s tenacity I would truly have the most powerful army the Empire has ever seen.”

“Consider it done, my Lord. Always eager to prove myself.” 

“Commander of my Legions.” 

“I like that, my lord.” His tone is wolfish. “I like that _a lot_.” 

#

When they dock with the orbital station, Fallon summons the crew. “If this goes poorly, Baras will not be satisfied with _my_ death. _Therefore_ , once I depart, Captain Quinn will take _The Fury_ and run a resupply mission to Dromund Kaas. You will return to Korriban to extract me _only_ when I call. I suspect that you will be informed if I perish. Do not linger around the Stronghold, Baras will have it watched.” 

“Why so long, my lord?” Pierce asks. “Shouldn’t take that much time to stomp Old Man Baras into dust.” 

“There may be ceremony or other trials in store. He is beaten and driven back, but our foe is crafty and known for contingencies.” Fallon replies. “Moreover, as the Wrath there may be other tasks required of me by the Council.” 

“Who’s going with you?” Quinn asks, reminding himself that he no longer has to school his worry into non-existence. She knows. Everyone knows. Vette taunted him about it at breakfast. He thinks Pierce might know about his _proclivities_ which is disconcerting. 

“He’s right, Master,” Jaesa’s eyes slide off of Quinn and onto Fallon. “You will need backup as a show of force if nothing more.” 

“I know, and I’ve given it quite a lot of thought.” Fallon nods and turns to look at Vette, who looks surprised. “Vette, you’ve been with me since I left Korriban. You’re the perfect symbol of how far I’ve come and I know you would enjoy rubbing your existence in the faces of the Dark Council.” Her smile is warm. “Not a command, _woyonuks,_ a request.”

“Well, I _would_ like to watch you grind Baras into a fine paste.” Vette smiles. “Yeah. I’ll do it. Beats hanging out here. If he kills me I’m going to haunt you.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Fallon turns back the rest of the crew. “I will see you all in no more than a few days. Pick up plenty of fresh fruit.” 

“Yes, my lord.” Is the general consensus and everyone gives a bow of varying depth. 

Quinn catches her at the airlock and holds her elbows while he kisses her. “Be safe.” 

“Worried I’ll leave you with Pierce for more than a week, Captain?”

“That had occurred to me, my lord.” 

“You’re both so _weird_.” Vette huffs, rolling her eyes. 

Quinn watches the airlock close and returns to the cockpit to take them out.

#

Vette calls no more than three hours later, wearing a huge grin and nearly vibrating with delight as she details the fight over the holo, how Fallon took the floor and faced Baras in one-on-one combat and was victorious. She says that Fallon has been _affirmed_ as The Wrath and all that comes with that. She is given the name Darth Cinis, indicating the flames of her fury, though she will be addressed as _Lord Wrath_ by Councilor and Commoner alike.

Quinn’s heart swells when Fallon appears on the holo, uninjured and looking none the worse for wear. She sets one hand on Vette’s shoulder and smiles darkly. “Went much faster than I had expected, ceremonies and all.” 

“We have not yet reached Dromund Kaas, my lord. If you would like, we can change course immediately.”

“Do so at once. This place remains unbearably sandy.” Fallon’s instructions are curt, but then her eyes warm. “And then we are going _home_. I have affairs to manage.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“Oh, and tell Jaesa to make room on her trophy shelf for a lightsaber and a mask that once belonged to a _very_ prominent sith lord. Should make her smile.” 


	28. Some Time To Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Darth Baras's defeat the crew has a little bit of time to relax before the next big crisis.

They are most of the way to Dromund Kaas when Fallon sets her hand on Quinn’s arm, coming into the cockpit from the engine room, and tells him softly that there has been a small change of plans and she has business on Tatooine. He doesn’t question her, he just punches in the coordinates and kisses her knuckles before she leaves. 

Fallon smiles at the gesture and leans in to kiss him properly in turn. 

Pierce makes a few token complaints, but they seem more for show than anything. Fallon informs Quinn that this shouldn’t take long, and leaves the space port with Vette, allowing the rest of the crew some shore leave. 

Broonmark spends an afternoon mutilating exchange members with Pierce, helping out the local imperial garrison. Jaesa goes for drinks and pleasurable company. Quinn adjusts a few systems and checks the regulations on a whim regarding marriage to one’s superior officer if one’s superior officer is a sith and purchases an opera he’s never heard before. 

And waits. 

The rest of the crew shuffles back and Pierce takes a few shots at him over caff but after everything they’ve been through, the dislike is secondary to a grudging trust and respect. Mutual knowledge that the other has Fallon’s back. 

Pierce knows about the betrayal. Quinn’s mostly just grateful he’s never _brought it up_ outside of the one time he fucked Fallon to prove a point. He wonders if Fallon had words with Pierce about not mentioning Quinn’s lies and the attempt on her life. She must have. 

#

Near sunset Vette and Fallon return to the ship. Vette’s expression is dark and troubled, she has Fallon’s jacket over her shoulders, protecting her from the cold Tatooine night, her thin blue fingers grip the lapels like a life-line. Fallon spares him a glance, one hand on Vette’s shoulder, and shakes her head to silence his question. 

A few hours later, Quinn passes the engine room and hears singing, one of the gentler arias from _Jen Saarajikut,_ he thinks it’s Moxzae’s death scene. He peers into the room from the doorway and sees Fallon on the floor, her jacket over Vette as the twi’lek uses her knee as a pillow. There are lines of tears on Vette’s cheeks and Fallon is stroking one lekku gently as she sings. 

He wants to ask, but he doesn’t. He walks to Fallon’s room and hangs his uniform in the closet, in what has become its place, before curling up in her bed. In what he hopes has become his place. 

He wakes up slowly as Fallon joins him, long bare legs sliding in beside and then over his. He rolls to his side and wraps an arm around her, smiling when her bone spur presses into his shoulder. 

“Go back to sleep, Quinn,” she mutters, sounding tired and stretched thin. “You have to be up soon.” 

He tugs her closer, pulling one of her thighs over both of his. He kisses her neck. “Can I assist, my lord?” 

She kisses the line of his jaw. “Vette’s mother was worked to death. She’s not handling it well. Be gentle with her.” 

He doesn’t _like_ Vette. She’s noisy and insubordinate and disrespectful. She runs her mouth relentlessly and always seems to be underfoot. But Fallon adores her. Vette has been at Fallon’s side since she left the Academy and Quinn can’t help the sliver of affection that has inspired. Like his respect for Pierce but warmer and less annoying. 

“Your nickname for her, my lord, what does it mean?” 

There’s a hint of a tiny smile in Fallon’s voice when she answers. “ _Woyonuks_ means _Little One_. She is my little one.” 

Quinn nods and kisses Fallon’s forehead. “I will be gentle.”

#

In the morning he hands Vette a cup of caff as she pads yawning from the engine room, Fallon’s jacket draped over one arm. He can pass it off as unit cohesion if he’s pressed. 

She looks at the cup and then at him and then back. He expects her to joke that it must be poisoned, but Vette’s mouth quirks into a very small smile instead. “Thanks. Captain,” she says quietly. 

He nods and moves past her to the cockpit. 

Later, Vette brings him his lunch, she gives him a threadbare smile and leaves without a word. 

Unit cohesion. It they’re pressed. 

#

Things are quiet for a time. When they return to Dromund Kaas and the seat of Fallon’s power, Quinn moves his sparse few belongings to her bedroom and remembers her claims that it would take something _extraordinary_ for her to share her space with a man for any length of time. The traces of Vette and Jaesa linger in the room, Jaesa’s make-up sits on the vanity with Fallon’s brush, spare parts from whatever Vette has been working on are pushed out of the way beside the couch. 

And now his clothes hang in the closet. And his blaster rests on the bedside table. 

Fallon’s arms curl around his waist as she walks up on him from behind. Her teeth graze the shell of his ear sending shivers through his spine. “The girls have been informed that they must seek permission before entering the room,” she tells him, speaking in low, dark tones. “Consider this room your sanctuary, my beloved.” 

Her holo buzzes and Fallon sighs. “That will be Marr. Never a dull moment.” 

She kisses his neck and disappears to take the Council’s call. As The Wrath her power has grown, she is accountable to no one but the Emperor, a peer of The Council itself, her position existing as a check against them, should a Councillor anger the Emperor. She is his fury and his sword. 

But she serves the Empire above all else, she will never again take unworthy orders solely because she is _meant_ to. She smiles and brushes his cheek with her hand, “you inspired me.”

#

She says this to Malavai again while they’re lying in bed, sweaty and satisfied. _You inspire me_. Her few complaints about the day drowned in his sweat and his drowned in hers. She kisses the red marks around his wrists from where the ropes had held him helpless and pliant for her use. “We’re going to Ilum, my love,” she kisses the underside of his jaw. “There is something there that may turn the course of this war.”

Fallon rolls out of bed and pulls on her robe. Quinn watches her leave and lays flat on his back, staring up at the canopy of black and red silk that hangs over their bed. He’s never dreaded rejoining the fray, but now he can’t help but wish the Galaxy would slow down for a moment. 

Her bearing and facade are that of the indestructible, but every conflict bears with it the _chance_ that she will fall. And if she falls, all she has built falls with her. He and Pierce will be reassigned. Jaesa will go to the Academy (or die in a blaze of glory) until some other Lord tries and likely fails to tame her. Vette and Broonmark will be abandoned. 

It was something he thought about while loyal to Baras, a way to honor her when she died. Now it’s something more, now he needs a way to _preserve_ her legacy, her goals. The essence of who and what she is. 

And she has troubles enough without worrying about what will happen when she’s gone. 

If he can shoulder that, then he must. 


	29. Love Is The Motive That's Why  I'm Illum 'em

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illum! And Fallon's issues with Darth Malgus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whether or not there's an actual opera based around Malgus's whole backstory, there's one now.

Illum, as a whole, has been rather more complicated that Quinn would have liked. The planet is colder than Hoth, though the weather is better and the comms consistent. The Republic is underfoot, but when are they not? 

Still, he can’t help but feel that they are _losing_ this war. And the implications bother him. 

There’s a cold snap down his spine, however, when it becomes apparent that losing the war to the Republic is both a less immediate _concern_ and the less imminent _threat_. 

As Darth Malgus, one of the conquerors of Coruscant, has apparently lost his mind and declared himself Emperor. 

Fallon, arms crossed with irritation and her posture tense, stares up at Malgus’s hologram, fury in her eyes. Her teeth grind as she listens to his declaration of a _new_ Sith Empire (the very idea is offensive) and her eyes flash when they meet Grand Moff Regus’s. “He must be stopped,” she snaps. “And I’ve wanted the chance to kill him for a long time. Find him.” 

“I agree,” the Grand Moff says. “This will have to be our top priority. I’ll summon a council.” 

“Good. Keep me informed.” She turns on the ball of her foot, coat billowing back behind her and strides out, forcing Quinn to jog after her once he salutes the Grand Moff. 

He stands a half-pace from her as she stops. “I didn’t know you had a personal issue with Darth Malgus, my lord.” 

Fallon’s mouth is a thin line and her eyes are narrowed, the irritation lingering though not directed at him. She looks past him and then back. “You’re familiar with his story, I trust, and the Opera based on it? _Qorit’ari_?”

“Yes, my lord.” He’s become something of a quiet opera connoisseur, knowing her love of it. _Qorit’ari_ is considered something of a modern classic, though it remains one of the few operas Fallon will skip pieces of while she’s in a mood. The death of Eleena Daru in particular, despite the piece being both triumphant and sweet. 

“That’s all the reason I need.” She huffs. “Malgus’s murder of Eleena _offends me_ on every conceivable level. That she remained his slave while living as his wife, that he killed her because she was his _weakness_ ,” she spits the word _weakness_ out like it’s venomous and foul tasting. “Even now, everything he said in there _stinks_ of obsession with that error.” She turns and takes Quinn’s hands in hers, the display of affection brazen for being in sight of the Grand Moff’s office. “You recall that article Pierce sent you?” 

“Yes, my lord.” Quinn’s not sure he’ll ever get the statistics out of his head, though he elects to ignore them. 

“Malgus is the source of the rot. He’s become such an _icon_ that some sith allow their passions to flourish and then prune them short in order to protect themselves and mimic what they consider to be Malgus’s greatest strength. They are _fools_ and it _offends me_.” She squeezes his fingers. “You are one of my strengths, Malavai, never a weakness. I will not permit an old broken ruin to imply otherwise simply because he was too frightened of his fellows to protect what mattered.” She pulls away. “Summon Jaesa and Vette, I will want their accompaniment. Malgus is famously powerful and it would do them good to see his fall for themselves.” Fallon’s smile sharpens. “Besides, I’ll want to press every last sore spot before I drive my weapon home.”

“My lord?” 

“His wife, the beautiful Twi’lek? From everything I’ve seen she was only half as lovely as my Vette.” 

“Understood, my lord.” 

#

Quinn stands just behind and to the side of Fallon during the war council, Pierce at his side. Vette leans against the back wall, trying to make herself smaller in the presence of so many of the Empire’s movers and shakers. Jaesa is at Fallon’s other side, in her place as apprentice and heir. 

The plan for the assault is straightforward, though it promises to be more difficult to enact. Once they _find_ Malgus’s invisible fortress Fallon, Vette and Jaesa will board while the Imperial and Republic forces distracted Malgus’s crystal fleet. Fallon will then dispatch Malgus in whatever manner she feels most appropriate and escape.

But the first step is to _find_ Malgus, and for that they need one of his ships. Fallon turns and looks over her shoulder. “Lieutenant?” 

“Sir?” 

“I think I’ll want you with me for this.” She smiles. “You and Jaesa.”

#

She kisses his cheek before he drops her with Pierce and Jaesa on the front lines of the battle for Ilum. He thinks back to what Fallon had said about Eleena Daru and Malgus. The opera was likely dramatized, but it had happened. The sources were difficult to pin down, layer upon layer of secrecy a necessity because Darth Malgus had _not_ been amused by the Opera’s creation. 

Quinn puts _Qorit’ari_ on softly in the cockpit, and listens. 

For all her claims to the contrary, he can’t help but wonder if Fallon will kill him someday. Will it be because he weakens her? Because he could be used against her? And if he can not . . . what does that mean? Quinn frowns. He tightens his grip on the steering to keep from running one of them through his hair unprofessionally. 

Of course, it doesn’t _matter_. His life was hers. Even if he _wasn’t_ in love with her, he certainly owes her more than he had ever owed Baras (an impressive and terrible sum, or so he’d thought for so many years) for the way she furthered his career. For the way she allowed him to deal with both Voloren and Broysc and didn’t _rightfully kill him_ after he tried to _murder her_. If the Emperor’s Wrath, his beloved, decides he has to die, he will accept it. 

His life is hers. 

Maybe he ought to make that official at some point.

When he gets the call that they’ve taken the stealth fighter, Quinn turns the ship and flies near the base to trade out Vette for Pierce. The lieutenant shouts his greeting (“I’m on! Let’s get up there!”) and they ascend, following the coordinates as they’re sent to Malgus’s stolen fortress. 

#

She returns triumphant, though with the Emperor’s Base having exploded _as_ her ship was leaving the hangar. He sees her first back on Illum, standing between and before Jaesa and Vette, the three of them looking as though the fight had cost them nothing. 

Quinn thinks fondly of the compact mirror in her pocket. Her claim that her appearance was as much a weapon as any other part of her. She accepts the accolades of the war council with grace and her eyes kiss his as she walks past him, turning to leave. “Captain, Lieutenant, I think it’s time we return to Dromund Kaas.” 

“M’lord,” Pierce nods and follows her immediately but Quinn pauses for a moment, watching the swish of her long coat. His heart aches for her, but it reminds him more of the ache in his shoulders after her nails have torn through them and the ache in his thighs when he is spent. It’s a good ache. 

#

That night Quinn sits on the edge of her mattress and watches her brush her hair. He studies the patterns of black and purple bruises on her crimson skin. Fallon chuckles and rolls her eyes when she notices. She cups his cheek and pulls his face towards hers for a kiss. “Did you think I’d abandon you so easily?” she teases. 

“Never, my lord.” 

She ties him down and patterns his skin with bruises to match hers. She leaves bite marks and claw marks and lipstick stains on his torso while she fucks him roughly with her fingers until he begs and she unties his wrists and curls her arms around his waist to stroke his cock with her other hand until he shatters apart under her ministrations with praises in his ears. 

She sets her head on his chest when they’re lying atop the sheets and nips his collarbone just hard enough to earn a hissed breath before she kisses it to soothe any ruffled feathers. He traces small circles and spiral patterns in her sweat and smiles to himself. “I love you,” he says, soft enough that the words won’t travel and clear enough that there’s no question about what was said. 

“I know,” Fallon says, the hint of a hum along the edges. She props herself up and kisses him slowly. “I love you too.” 

He smoothes his hands up her arms and into her long black hair and when the kiss ends and she kills the light he almost can’t remember what it was like languishing on Balmorra. Her lips graze the line of his neck and he can feel her smile. “Say it again, Malavai.”

“I love you.” 


	30. A Better Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The proposal

He checks the regulations three times, not because they will stop him, but because if they’re going to _try_ he wants every article memorized so he can cite his loopholes. He finally deletes the article Pierce had sent him about mortality rates for non-force users involved with force users and checks his appearance in Fallon’s mirror twice, ensuring that he looks immaculate. 

Fallon is seated at the breakfast table, an opera playing in the background, _Wokun_ , if he’s not mistaken. Jaesa is in the garage with Pierce, Quinn can hear the blaster fire. Vette is still sleeping, never much for early mornings if she can help it. Broonmark spends the first hour after dawn in meditation to channel his fury the way Fallon does, to become more like the Sith Clan. 

Most importantly, they are alone. And they need to be alone for this. 

“My Lord.” Quinn straightens, the poster child for the Imperial Military. “I have something very important to ask you.” 

Fallon’s eyes move over him, drinking him in, and slowly she starts to smile. “Yes, Quinn, I think we should get married,” she says. 

Quinn can’t help but laugh, a smile breaking out over his features and ruining his attempt to look quite professional and quite serious with boyish delight and enthusiasm. “I should have known, it’s difficult to surprise someone with such acute senses.” 

Fallon stands up out of her chair, long black robe fluttering around her. “So, Malavai Quinn, will you be my husband?” She holds her hands out and takes his, stepping into him, a full three inches taller than him and brighter than a dying sun. 

“Yes,” he laces his fingers with her. “And together, there will be nothing we cannot achieve.” 

Fallon gives a chuckle warmer than the caff she’s abandoned and lets go of his hands to feather his cheeks and tilt his face up to hers. “ _That_ was already true, Quinn.” He can taste caf on her lips when she kisses him. “You have long been my greatest strength, my secret weapon.” 

He smiles against her mouth, hands falling to her waist to pull her close as they share another long kiss. “In light of our new commitment, my lord, perhaps you should start calling me ‘Malavai’ more regularly.” 

Fallon chuckles. “Not _husband_?”

“Please don’t.” 

“ _Hubby_ then,” Fallon’s eyes are wicked and bright. 

“I have actually learned to tell when you’re joking.” Quinn rolls his eyes and kisses her cheek, feeling her smile. “I’m going back to work, _wife_.” 

She catches his cheek and turns his face back, kissing him again. Her smile is beautific when they part. “Then you must stop calling me _my lord_ when we are at home.” 

He flushes. “I will try, my lo--my love.” 

“Better.” 

She kisses him with her eyes as he leaves the room. There are papers to file, a ceremony to plan, a future to build. Malavai chuckles to himself, looking forward to being _busy_ for a while. 

#

That night, Fallon ties his arms up to a hook on the ceiling after he strips. She blindfolds him and kisses his mouth without even the smallest hint of tooth. He can see nothing, feel nothing, and she leaves him just long enough for him wonder what will come. 

He expects to feel teeth or nails, maybe the leather of his favorite flogger. The bite of the crop. 

Instead, his breath seizes in his chest when her tongue strokes the underside of his cock. He tugs against the ropes, wanting to grab her hair or massage her shoulders or anything to show his appreciation, but the knots are secure. Fallon lavishes affection on him with long, firm sucks and delicate flicks of her tongue, taking him all the way to the hilt while one hand caresses his balls. She pulls away and his cock rests against her cheek, touching the bone spurs and ridges while she speaks, nuzzling against him. 

“My Malavai, my beloved, my passion.” 

When he cums, he cums in her throat and he feels Fallon swallow him down. She withdraws and presses her mouth to his and Quinn groans against her teeth, tasting himself on her breath, feeling her press tight against him. 

“That was unexpected, my love,” he tries to say it slowly, but his heart is thundering and his chest is heaving and so the words are scattered and broken. 

“It’s good to keep you on your toes,” Fallon replies, undoing the ropes and removing the blindfold. “ _Husband_.” 

Quinn wraps both arms around her waist and lifts her, spinning and dropping her on the bed behind them. He pins her there with kisses and presses first one and then two fingers into her, massaging gently. “ _Wife_.” 

Fallon falls apart around his hand and then again when he switches to his tongue. When he’s hard again he rolls onto his back so she can ride him. He teases his tongue over the piercings on her nipples and muffles his cries against her skin and when they finish they fold against one another in a deep sleep, too warm for even the thin killiksilk sheets. 

He cannot remember what he was doing before he saw her. Logically he knows he was serving Baras’s interests on Balmorra, but the details are lost to him until the moment she walked, fully expected, into his office. He had been with the Imperial Military for most of his life, but he had all but forgotten the smell of rain on Dromund Kaas and the sweet taste of apnack on his tongue. 

He had forgotten the passion and ambition that drove him. 

Fallon’s lips touch the shell of his ear. She is tall and strong, limbs wrapped around him in the night, long black hair wild when it’s down. He tugs her closer in their marriage bed, and dreams of future conquests at her side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may someday write their adventures through Makeb, Oricon, Revan and eventually through the expansions, but we'll have to see. I'll keep putting stuff up in Tributaries though, count on it.


End file.
